


A Backwards Glance

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Genderswap, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 88,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series: Deborah wasn't always the queen of the sky that she is at MJN. Although, looking back on her life, none of it seems to compare...looking back...well, sometimes she'd rather not look back at all. Somewhere along the line it all adds up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The rocking of the car and the clunking rumble of the wheels on the tarmac, the wind rushing past the slim gap in the windows, was loud and annoying, but Debbie could easily drown that out and ignore the discomfort; the one thing that was really, really irritating, was how difficult the motion was making it to read her comic book. Archie had rebelled at her calling it a comic, claiming that it was a ‘graphic novel’, but Debbie didn’t care; he didn’t want them anymore, so she could call them what she liked.

At her side, Archie was stretched out on the seat beside her, scratching away at his notepad and ignoring her completely; Debbie didn’t know why he had come with them. Then again, he was twenty eight; he had stopped being fun long before she had been born.

The summer holidays had been fun to begin with, but then her eleventh birthday had been and gone, and they only had a week left before her parents shipped her off to the posh school that they had found; Debbie hadn’t been around when they had done the same thing to Archie, but he kept telling her that it would be a laugh. Archie said a lot of things, and Debbie tended put her hands over her ears.

She didn’t know why her parents had wanted to drag her around Scotland at the end of August, but it seemed like they just wanted to do all of the adult things, and couldn’t have left her at home; that was alright though, Debbie had Archie’s old Star Trek comics to trawl through. While Mum and Dad and Archie pretended to be all serious and appreciative of the things that they were looking at, Debbie was happy to read and imagine that she was in the place of whichever member of the Enterprise took her fancy.

Often Kirk, but sometimes she’d imagine that she was Uhura, or one of the other women, saving the day with their clever schemes.

Any kind of distraction was good, especially as her parents were talking about some relative of theirs and taxes…or at least, Debbie thought that it was taxes; she didn’t recognise a lot of the words, but they were definitely the sort of words that came on the bills when she read them over Dad’s shoulder.

“You know, I really wish you wouldn’t read so much when we’re on holiday.” Debbie glanced up from the colourful pictures and speech to see her mother peering over the back of her seat, watching her daughter with eyebrows pinched and brow furrowed; blonde hair carefully coifed, and brown eyes crinkled within their pencilled lines, Victoria Richardson was the picture of unnecessary concern, “You’ve only got a week left before you’re back at school; you should be enjoying this as much as you can.”

“I’ll put it away when we get there.” Debbie replied, laying the comic down on her knees, but not closing the pages; Mum was always a bit of a bother, fussing over what she was doing, trying her to get to do things that _she_ found fun, but Debbie had learnt that enduring instead of whining allowed her to get back to whatever she had been doing before.

“And leave it in the car?” Mum prompted pointedly; she fixed Debbie with her sternest glare, pleasant and light, as if she had actually been able to intimidate her since before her eighth birthday.

“No.” Debbie answered, shaking her head and curling her hands around her comic; she wanted to do as she was told, but she knew that she was going to be bored the moment that the car stopped, “I’m going to put it in my bag in case I get bored.”

There was no doubt that she was going to be bored, Debbie knew that; this would be the third whiskey distillery that they had dragged her around, so enthused by the idea of absorbing the Scottish culture, and Debbie had had enough. She had liked the towns, and the historical bits, for as long as it took for her feet to grow tired and her stomach to rumble, but now she just wanted to go home. But Debbie could behave herself, so long as she had something to entertain her; her comics were coming with her even if she had to sneak them in under her shirt.

“Oh, Debbie-” Mum started to scold her, sighing and shaking her head, letting her eyes flutter closed; but she was interrupted, as Albert Richardson, probably rolling his eyes, turned away from the road and flicked a hand towards his wife.

“Let the girl read, Vee.” Dad drawled, as he placed both hands on the wheel; Debbie smiled at his reflection in the rear view mirror, and shuffled her comic further up her knees, hugging it closer, “It’s a good thing. She’ll grow up articulate and brainy, won’t you darling?”

“Mrs Collins did say that my vocabulary was at a year eight level.” Debbie agreed proudly; that was likely to please Mum for a bit, and maybe make Dad preen enough to let her get away with whatever she wanted, and perhaps buy her some things in the gift shop. And it would annoy Archie, which was always nice.

“It’s because you’ve been learning from your books and our car games.” Dad remarked brightly, flicking his gaze up to meet hers in the mirror; he liked to boast about how clever his daughter was, the both of them did. It was sort of nice, and Debbie couldn’t bring herself to stir up the bravery to ask him to tone it down; the rewards were worth it.

“Yes, I told her that that was probably why.” Debbie replied nonchalantly, acting as if it were no big deal; in truth, it wasn’t, as she was always near the top of her class in at least half of her subjects (except maths and sciences), but it took a lot of hard work, more that Mum seemed to think, “She was very impressed though; she gave me a high achievers badge and everything.”

“You should have told me!” Mum exclaimed, her face splitting into a wide smile, any trace of her despair gone in a second; Debbie forced a smile, pleased somewhat by the promise of a peaceful rest of the drive, free of any bickering, “I could have put it up on the wall!”

With that Mum turned around to face forwards again, and Debbie ducked her head down to read her comic; Mum was always like this, and it had made things awkward at school, though Debbie had never really cared what other people thought about her achievements. She liked being good at everything she tried; it meant that when other children cried because they couldn’t perfect this or that, she had no trouble whatsoever.

But there was something a bit uncomfortable about Mum and Dad telling everyone who passed through the house about how perfect her daughter was; Debbie was proud, but she always felt a bit guilty when the strange grown-ups asked her to talk about all of her awards and tokens. She may have been naturally talented, but it was hard work, and for every musical award that she received, there would still be a C in her Maths SATs folded at the bottom of her chest of drawers.

Boarding school wouldn’t be like that; she wouldn’t have to see either of them for months at a time, and she could filter what information they received. The man that she had spoken to at their visit had made a point of talking to Debbie directly, about how lessons were tailored to what the students wanted, about how she could choose which extra-curricular things she wanted to do, and how they made sure to put on lots of in-house activities to make sure that everyone was included and matched up with friends that liked the same sort of things.

“See what I mean?” Archie leaned over and whispered into Debbie’s ear, prodding her in the arm; he may not spend much time at home anymore, but he had known their parents longer than Debbie had, and she had to admit, was a good person to share her annoyances with. Nobody was better at complaining to about parents than siblings.

“Yeah.” Debbie muttered back, making sure to keep her eyes down so that their parents didn’t see her smirk; he had caught her slipping her certificates onto the bookcase, where Mum wouldn’t look, and made some quick remark about how much importance they were putting on her being like a prize poodle. It had been bothersome when he had said it, but Debbie understood the sentiment.

“If you don’t win lots of trophies over the next seven years, they’ll disown you.” Archie murmured, scoffing when Debbie’s elbow collided with his ribs; he didn’t mean it, she knew that, he was only teasing, but that hit a little too close to home for her to take lying down.

“Archie!” Dad snapped from the front seat, turning to shoot him a glare; Archie simply shrugged and settled back against the car door, going back to his scribbling, colouring in what looked at a glance to be woman in a knee length dress with a massive scarf, always on the job, oblivious, or just not caring, about Dad’s disgruntlement, “Don’t tell her that.”

“I’ll just have to win lots of trophies then, won’t I?” Deborah remarked wryly, taking her eyes from Dad’s to give Archie a self-satisfied smirk; that would show him, “You’ll have to tell me when to stop so that I don’t overload the shelf.”

“Are you looking forwards to starting your knew school dear?” Mum inquired lightly as she turned back to lean over the back of her seat; she spared Archie a fleeting glare, which he didn’t look up to see, before plastering on a bright, slightly rigid smile, “You haven’t spoken much about it.”

“Yes, it sounds like fun.” Debbie told her blandly, looking down and silently hating Archie for being able to avoid too much of her attention, as she glared down at the comic in her lap; she _was_ looking forwards to school, no matter how sad her friends would think that that was (no that she’d ever tell them), but not for the reasons that Mum thought she was, “I’m really looking forwards to it.”

“They’ve got all sorts of musical groups, and drama societies, and there’s even an art department.” Mum continued, as if Debbie hadn’t been there when all of that had been explained the first time; sometimes it felt like she was more excited about Debbie getting to go than she was herself, “When you get there, you need to find out which ones you like and sign up for as many as you can.”

“Yes Mummy.” Debbie sighed, ducking her head as Mum shifted back again; perhaps she could get back to reading her comic again, although she’d have to go back a page and remember what had been happening in the plot.

“But not so many that you overload yourself.” Dad interjected, waving his pointed finger in the air, as he did something with the wheel and the car swayed across the road; realising that this was one of those conversations where she could easily not be in the room at all, Debbie went back to her reading, keeping one ear on what her parents were saying, “It’s the academic subjects that are important; they help you decide what you want to do when you’re older.”

“Of course, but she could be an actress, or a musician.” Mum insisted, gazing imploringly at her husband as he sighed and nodded along; sometimes Debbie wondered if he was always not meaning it when he nodded, but it wasn’t her place to care, “If we work hard, there’s no reason that our baby can’t be famous.”

“I understand that, but nobody gets anywhere without qualifications.” Dad retorted calmly; he was always the voice of reason, aware of Debbie’s limits, despite his faith in her and her achievements, “Even Archie needed a couple, and I hardly think that maths is an important matter when dressing up young women.”

“Excuse me, I’m actually excelling quite far in the fashion business.” Archie chipped in, apparently not as uninterested as he liked to pretend he was, though he didn’t pause in his doodling; Debbie looked up at him, spotting the opportune moment to get back at him, in the smallest of ways, “It’s not an easy job.”

“Isn’t it all just colouring?” Debbie inquired slyly, reaching out to pull his notepad down to look at his drawing; Archie snatched his hand back and slapped her lightly away, only to have to push her away when the car lurched and she ended up falling sideways.

“No.” Archie replied blithely, tugging one knee up to his chest to rest his notepad on it; his drawing took on a more violent nature, with wide scratches over one area of the paper, as if he were venting his frustrations on his cherished pictures.

“But I’ve seen you spend hours just colouring in pictures of clothes.” Debbie carried on regardless, taking a small pleasure from being able to tease him back; years and years of being slower than him, there were some things about growing up that were rather nice, “I could do that, and I’m a child.”

“I’m creating a portfolio.” Archie retorted waspishly, glancing up from his drawing to glare at her; not that Debbie was at all affected by his wrath, as Archie was harmless at best, “The people in charge aren’t looking at my autumn designs yet, but they _are_ listening to my idea for an autumn theme, with more wispy elements to compliment the Fall season.”

“Hmmm.” Debbie hummed at him, but didn’t say any more; it was hard to keep the sadistic smile from her face as Archie scowled, but she made a valiant effort, pressing her lips together into a thin line and inwardly praising herself for managing to stay so cool and suave throughout the whole discussion. There would be no looking immature and pathetic now that she had been practicing being more mature.

From the front of the car, Debbie could hear faint huffing and could tell that one or both of her parents were about to tell them to stop bickering or they’d turn the car around; they wouldn’t, but she understood that that was just the first warning, and that it would be wrong of her to do anything else to make the day miserable.

They wanted to enjoy their adult’s day out; that was okay, she could entertain herself.

oOoOoOo

The distillery was a boring as Debbie had expected it to be; sure, the location was pretty, and the rooms were interesting for the first two minutes that she looked at them, but overall, the tour guide’s talk was aimed at adults, and Debbie was content to listen for a bit, work out what each room was for, and then bury her nose back in the adventures of Kirk and Spock, making sure to follow the group.

One thing she would say though, it was hot; not just hot, but in certain parts, the parts with the huge metal machines that looked like those flasks her teachers used in chemistry, were stifling and made sweat bead up on her arms. When they had been in that room, Debbie had stood against the back wall with her arms held petulantly across her middle, pouting at the ground until the guide had led them through to the other room.

The _next_ room; that was the only part that Debbie could admit to liking. There were massive round pools, like barrels made for giants to drink from, poking up from the ground, and the whole area smelled _delicious_ ; the guide had told them that it was something to do with grain and the whiskey coming into existence, but Debbie hadn’t really been listening. Instead, she had stood right at the edge as the barrel’s lid was removed and a gust of hot, amazing smelling air, that made her just a little bit dizzy, filled her lungs, letting the adults chatter and pretend to be oh so interested behind her.

It was only as Debbie was walking between her mother and Archie, while Dad was wandering off ahead, rapt with attention for what the guide was saying, that Mum leaned down and pushed the pages of the comic away from her face, and fixed her daughter with a disappointed stare; Debbie didn’t fold the pages away, simply held them at arm’s length and glared back at her mother, knowing not to start the argument.

“I thought I told you to put that away.” Mum remarked quietly, hushing her voice so as not to make a scene, or provoke any kind of angry response; she was well learned in maintaining a cool outward appearance in public, and Debbie had been paying enough attention to know that it kept the peace.

“I’m bored!” Debbie replied heatedly,  then took a deep breath when Mum quirked an eyebrow at her; as she tried to reason with her mother, her hands moved aimlessly through the air either side of her, making the pages in her hands rustle, “This is all…it’s stuff that you three like. I’m being good and quiet.”

“If you didn’t want to come, you could always have stayed with Granny.” Archie muttered, the tone of his voice measured specially for teasing and winding her up; Granny would have loved to have her stay the week, as old as she was, over sixty years older than Debbie, but that didn’t make it any less upsetting an idea to have been abandoned with her when the rest of the family was out on a jolly.

“No! I liked the castles, it’s just this place that’s boring.” Debbie huffed, turning away from Mum to glare at her brother, taking care to steady her breathing and not get too angry, lest she be accused of being childish; Archie was just being mean again, _he_ didn’t have to be there at all, he could have just left them alone like he normally did, “Why are you here anyway? You’re an adult, you have your own money to buy holidays.”

“I wanted to spend some time with the family.” Archie shrugged, rocking on his heels as he looked down at her with one eyebrow raised as if to mock her, hands deep in his pockets, “That’s not a crime.”

Thankfully, Debbie didn’t have to think up a quick retort, as in that moment her father appeared and her mother rose back to her feet, smiling wanly and placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder after muttering something that sounded critical into Archie’s ear.

“Come on you lot, we’re losing the group.” Dad ushered them along, sweeping up behind Archie to make sure that the three of them caught up with the rest of the tourists; at least someone was enjoying themselves, Debbie supposed, as her father was always enthused by fascination with everything.

They barely made it through ten minutes, and Debbie had barely raised her comic back in front of her face, so that it blocked out the sight of the crowd humming amongst itself, but not the delicious odour that still wafted through every door, before Mum decided to bother her again; anyone would think that she _hadn’t_ wanted to visit the place.

“What are you even reading?” Mum demanded faintly, linking her fingers together where her hands hung at her front as she walked backwards and peered down at the pages in her hands; swallowing the temptation to groan, Debbie simply pouted and raised the comic until Mum could see the cover, which proclaimed to the world that its contents were that of a Star Trek, “Oh, Debbie, that’s not very girly.”

“I like it.” Debbie replied immediately, folding it closed and hugging it against her chest, in a way that could have been mistaken for just a comfortable posture; she couldn’t help but feel just a little upset though, and tried not to think about the momentary trembling of her lips, as if she did, Archie would have called her a baby again, “It’s my favourite. You know it’s my favourite.”

“Where did you even get those?” Mum asked dismissively, shaking her head and scrunching up her eyes as she placed a hand on Debbie’s back to keep her moving; she didn’t shake the hand away, but she wanted to, “We didn’t buy them for you.”

“Archie gave them to me.” Debbie told her, any bounce that might have been in her demeanour gone, leaving only a miserable, grumpy, flatness to her tone, as she dragged her feet across the floor; maybe it was just that she hadn’t been speaking about the things that she liked so much anymore…she _had_ decided that because no one seemed to be paying attention to her ‘childish’ things, that she might as well not bother them with it.

“They’re my old ones.” Archie interrupted before their mother could reply, and Debbie was a little surprised at the almost concern that he seemed to express; he _had_ given them to her, though it had seemed, at the time, to be more an act of necessity as he cleaned out his flat than an act of kindness, “I thought she could get some use out of them instead of them going in the bin.”

“Wouldn’t you rather read something a little more…” Mum started to ask in an airy voice, spiralling her free hand through the air before she trailed off, more thoughtfully than because she thought that she might have been upsetting her daughter.

“Girly?” Debbie suggested for her; she waited for Mum to ‘ah’, and nod, and give her an indulgent, fluttering look and to squeeze her shoulder affectionately, before she continued, unwilling to lie about this in particular; other things, maybe, but there were some things that she would defend to the death, if such thoughts even held the right kind of gravitas in the mind of an eleven year old, “No.”

“But Debbie, that’s for boys-” Mum began to sigh, placing the tips of her fingers against her eyes as if fighting a battle long weathered; however, in an unusual show of loyalty, Archie interrupted again, to Debbie’s bewilderment. What did he have to gain other than to defend a fiction that had only held a passing interest in?

“Actually Mum, it’s not.” Archie retorted nonchalantly, inspecting the nails on his hand as he spoke; his elbow bumped into Debbie’s shoulder, far too forcefully for it to have been an accident, “It’s about equality.”

“Yes, see.” Debbie joined in while she still had the chance, seizing the opportunity to hold a valid discussion over this before the moment passed, “There’s Uhura, Nurse Chapel, Janice – look!” she opened the pages of her comic and held it out for Mum to read, but she simply shook her head and brushed her away; but Debbie wouldn’t be ignored so easily, and squared her jaw as she glared up at her mother, “Lots of girls, being girly and amazing at the same time.”

Mum looked like she wanted to say something, and her arm had disappeared from around Debbie’s back to fold over her chest like a brick wall refusing entry to reasonable debate; however, Dad appeared at her shoulder, chestnut hair askew as if he had run his hands through it while he searched for them.

“Are you three bickering again?” Dad asked as he looked between the three of them, Archie standing beside Debbie as Mum looked on in despair, desperately trying to reassert her controlled façade in place of her hopeless mood; he didn’t seem worried at all, and was still enthralled by their location, “Come on.”

They walked in silence for a while, Dad following nearly at the guide’s heels as she spoke, and Mum lagging in time with her offspring; Archie was making a brave effort at paying attention, but Debbie was biding her time, fingers clenching around the pages of her comic like a cat waiting to pounce, though she was wary not to ruin it.

“One day I want to be like Nurse Chapel.” Debbie announced proudly when the guide allowed the group a moment to wander freely in a large room containing gargantuan brass pipes; she made sure to take Mum’s hand in hers and tug, but to withdraw quickly and clutch at her comic as if to show just how much she meant what she said.

“But what about your acting and your music?” Mum groaned, fixing Debbie with a dewy eyed look that screamed of despairing disappointment; Dad didn’t look at her like that yet, so Debbie wasn’t going to roll over just yet, “Think about how beautiful you’d be on the stage.”

“Nurse Chapel doesn’t need to be beautiful.” Debbie replied unfalteringly, tipping her nose into the air as she spoke; Mum could think what she liked, but Debbie knew what she wanted to be like, and it was nothing like what her mother had in mind, no matter how much she really did love the arts, “She gets respect because she’s clever and she puts the Captain in his place.”

But Mum didn’t reply, but fell silent and turned away from Debbie as Dad appeared at her shoulder, ranting about something that Debbie didn’t care to listen to; she pouted in a way that she knew was childish, and held her comic closer to her chest, feeling as if she could topple sideways and hit the ground, even though there were people all around her.

“You told me you wanted to be Kirk.” Archie remarked wryly, as he leaned down to mutter not at all quietly into Debbie’s ear; she should never have told him anything, she _knew_ that he remembered it all for later use.

“Shhh!” Debbie scolded him, and whacked him around the back of the head with her comic before he had time to straighten up again; Mum shot her a warning glance, but otherwise said nothing, even as Archie rubbed a hand through his hair.

“You did!” Archie insisted, making no effort to keep his voice down now, which only made Debbie want to sink into the ground, “You told me you wanted to be like Kirk, all jet setting and perfect, and to have your own Spock.”

“Well I changed my mind.” Debbie snapped, turning her back on his and tugging her arms furiously around her middle, hoping that she hadn’t stamped her feet as loudly as she thought that she had; she was a big girl now, and heading off to live her own life at school, the last thing she needed was to be treated like a child.

“You can do whatever you want darling, now hurry up.” Dad said fondly, even as he placed a hand on her shoulder and directed her towards the group, which was now moving through the door to the outside; just as Debbie had thought, this was a boring, boring day, and she wanted to go home.

oOoOoOo

This room was the last room, the guide had promised, but Debbie thought that she had seen more rooms in this horrible place than she had ever been in in her life; she wouldn’t have minded so much if they had gone back to the nice smelling rooms, but this one was just boring, and even worse, the adults were all having too much fun without her.

The last treat at the end of a distillery tour was to let the grown-ups drink a bit of the whiskey, and Mum and Dad, and even Archie, had abandoned Debbie on the bench at the side of the room to indulge themselves; she had finished her comic, and now all she could do was pout and stare at the corner of the room, and try not to growl audibly under her breath.

“Can we leave yet?” Debbie demanded when Archie wandered within earshot of her; he turned at the sound, and came to sit beside her, of course stopping in front of the pane of glass on the way to make sure that his ruddy hair was properly primped where it lay in silly waves about his head.

“They’re still sampling the goods.” Archie sighed apologetically, though he wasn’t really sorry; he watched Debbie pout for a moment longer, before he glanced around, and then held out his glass to her, “Here do you want to try some?”

“The lady said that children couldn’t.” Debbie replied plaintively, although she was itching to see what all the fuss was about, what was so important that their parents had ignored her to taste and coo over; little rules could be broken, like at school, but this seemed like a big thing.

“Yeah, but I saw you when we were walking through the distillery.” Archie remarked dismissively, shrugging as if it were no big deal; to him, perhaps, it wasn’t, as he never seemed too concerned with her happiness, only making sure that she did what Mum and Dad told her to do, “You were practically inhaling the fumes.”

Debbie didn’t need any more encouragement; Archie was a grown-up after all, and if he said that it was okay, then in must have been okay. She took the glass from him, and took a swig of it just as she would her juice…only to clamp her mouth shut and force herself to swallow when it burnt upon hitting her tongue.

“Eugh!” Debbie cringed and thrust the glass back into Archie’s hand, squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them in time to see him give the glass a cursory look, and then take another sip himself, “That’s horrible! Why do you drink that?”

“Because it’s only horrible to begin with. Then it makes your head go nice and fuzzy after a while.” Archie explained, a nostalgic little smile curling his lips as he watched her; not that she cared, as she was too busy hating the burn at the back of her throat, “But you’re a child, so you can’t be drinking enough for that.”

“I don’t want to.” Debbie retorted, still making odd motions with her tongue as if that might make the taste go away; it really was horrible, and she didn’t want to ever taste such a vile thing again.

“Good.” Archie huffed; then from the corner of her eye Debbie saw him shift and turn and really look at her, his expression pinching into a curious mixture of worry and morbid fascination, before he stated that, “You’re in a right mood today.”

“No I’m not.” Debbie said shortly, pressing her lips together and holding her head high like she had seen Mum do a thousand times; that was how adults managed to stay so cool all the time, they just held themselves together like so, and voila – the problems melted away and they could smile throughout the day.

“Yes you are.” Archie contradicted her, to her annoyance; he looked across the room to where Mum and Dad were occupied, but when Dad caught his eyes, Archie began speaking quickly in a hushed, secretive tone, “Is it because of school? Are you afraid you won’t do as well as Mum and Dad think you will?”

“Of course I’ll do well. I always do well.” Debbie answered swiftly, without a trace of doubt; she always did well, at all the things that Mum cared about at least.

“Is it because you’ll be moving away from home and all your friends?” Archie asked, leaning down just a tad as Dad began to cross the room towards them; when Debbie didn’t say a work, merely glared at her shoes, he sighed and mumbled, “I thought so.”

“It’s quite far away.” Debbie murmured to him, hoping that he couldn’t hear; a wish wasted however, as he groaned lightly at replied regardless of whether she wanted him to or not.

“That’s alright.” Archie reasoned hastily, as he reached between them to tap her comic just a little bit too hard, so that the page bent in the middle; Debbie folded it back against her chest and scowled at him, though he took no notice, “You just take your stories with you.”

“Come on you two.” Dad called out before Debbie had time to respond; him and Mum were waiting in the middle of the room, gesturing for the two of them to join them, oblivious to the disgruntlement on both faces looking back at them, “At this rate we won’t be home until after dark.”

oOoOoOo

Sitting in her bedroom, the night before her parents drove her to her new school and deposited her there until her next Exeat, Debbie couldn’t sleep; she wasn’t even trying, she was just sitting on her bed in her pyjamas, glaring at her suitcases as the tiny wireless radio that she had snatched from Archie’s room when he wasn’t looking buzzed away to itself.

She wasn’t scared, she didn’t get scared; but Debbie wasn’t happy either, not that anyone was going to do anything about it. It was almost a welcome relief to be scared witless by the sound of her doorknob turning and the door swinging open.

“Hey!” Archie whispered as he appeared in the doorway, and stepped in uninvited, pulling the door shut behind her; Mum and Dad were asleep, and even though Archie could do what he liked, neither of them would do well if their parents found out their daughter had been up at such a time, “Hey, Debbie!”

“What?” Debbie demanded harshly, hugging her arms closer to her in a show of defiance; it was only then that she spotted the hefty box tucked under his arm, which he proceeded to dump onto her bed, and then stand back.

“I got you a going away present.” Archie announced in his hushed tone of voice; he sounded like he didn’t really care about what he was saying, and he was already on his way back to her door, leaving, ready to walk out, “You’ll have to keep the box so that it doesn’t get crushed in your bags.”

“What is it?” Debbie inquired, too tired to pretend that she wasn’t extremely interested as she crawled to the edge of the box, which could easily have spanned from one of her elbows to the other; she daren’t not tap it, or shake it, in case it were something breakable, or precious.

“Open it and see.” Archie instructed, opening the door and stepping through; he spared her one last cursory glance down his nose before he made his departure, “Cheer yourself up, for god’s sake, before you leave.”

Then he was gone, and Debbie could let her curiosity spew forth; as she hacked at the box’s seal with a pair of scissors from the sowing kit that Granny had given her, she had to push shoulder length hair behind her ears many time, as the waves kept blocking her fingers from view when she pulled the box onto her lap. Archie never got her gifts, only at birthdays and Christmas, and even then he seemed reluctant; it wasn’t like she could buy him gifts, she wasn’t earning any money.

When she reached what was inside, Debbie had to sit back in awe with the gift in her hands, marvelling on the verge of tears with how much she loved its every inch; Archie had only bought her a model of the Enterprise. Not a tiny thing either; a proper replica of the ship, perfect enough that it could have sat on a shelf, but sturdy enough that had she still been a child, Debbie could have run around and played with it.

Debbie spent hours inspecting each and every round edge, and the smooth grey of the outer hull; if she fell asleep in the car the next day, then that was fine by her, because this gift was the best one she had ever received.

oOoOoOo

Years later, after fantasy had made way for the real world, and the family that Deborah had once known was long gone and scattered to the winds, replaced by people that weren’t family, not really, but still managed to make her happier than she had been in living memory, she still had Archie’s gift.

It was tucked away at the back of her wardrobe, in its box, unlike the sofas that she had dragged from place to place, and the occasional ornament that she had kept; a little girl might have kept it on display and adored stroking it while being oh so careful, but a young woman had grown weary and sick of the world and tried to grow up too fast, hiding it away.

But she had never been able to get rid of it, and even when her head was straight, and she was healthier than she had been in decades, Deborah still couldn’t bring herself to indulge in the sillier remnants of her life; she became a grown up, no more drink, only smuggling what was harmless, trying to settle down and work on her relationships and her jobs…no room for playthings or ridiculous fantasies of youth.

And yet, every now and then Deborah and Martin would bicker over certain things that they both rather liked, and certain references make their way into everyday life; a Captain would call his First Officer ‘Number One’, and she would argue with a passion that his favourite Captain hadn’t flown nearly as well as hers. Carolyn had fumed when she realised that they nearly crashed the plane over a fight over whether Kirk was better than Picard.

Kirk was better; Deborah would fight him over that. Physically if she had to.

And if one day, when they were making room in her wardrobe, Martin had stumbled across a replica of the Enterprise, neither of them mentioned it again; true, this was in part because Martin had teased her by taking it out of the box and flying it above her head around the living room, only to start having fun, and continue playing with it (pretending to be a space pilot though Deborah didn’t call him out on it), while she cooked dinner.

But most of all, they just didn’t talk about it, because Deborah was moving on with her life, and Martin…Martin’s face lit up, and his eyes grew so wide and loving whenever he caught sight of proof that she wasn’t.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It felt good to be near the end; an end that was, in itself, a beginning. Debbie could admit that she was genuinely content, sitting comfortably in the old armchair in Granny’s house, enjoying the last time that the whole family would be together before they all spread out across the country.

Granny lived far away from Dad anyway, a long drive from Oxford meaning that visits were sparse, but long; Archie would be heading back to work in London, and Debbie was breaking away to finally, _finally_ escape to medical school and start having some unsupervised fun.

She would miss them, but it was time for her to grasp the adulthood that she had felt bubbling up for months now, now that the preparations were over. Perfect scores in her A Levels, and enough money saved from small jobs here and there (as well as parental support); the next few years promised to be the best in her life, especially as she was confident that she could breeze through whatever was thrown at her.

“Here you go dear.” Granny pushed the plate of biscuits on the coffee table a little closer to Debbie, smiling indulgently as she hobbled past the armchair, placing her hands on the back and speaking down; for a woman in her seventies, she was quite agile, enough so that Debbie rather admired her panache, “Don’t be shy, and if you want something else to drink, then help yourself.”

“Thank you, Granny.” Debbie replied sweetly, beaming up at her grandmother as a hand patted lovingly at her hair; as Granny disappeared into the hall and probably through to the kitchen, Archie snorted from where he was slouched over the sofa on the opposite side of the room, flicking through a copy of Vogue that was worn despite being fairly recent.

“You two, behave yourselves.” Dad instructed as he rose to his feet and made to follow Granny from the room; the stress of the past few years had begun to turn his hair a rusty shade of grey, and there were a few more lines on his face.

The overall affect was that Debbie was content to nod and smile wanly, agree to what he asked of her even if she didn’t necessarily abide by his rules; the man needed some peace of mind. It didn’t matter that Debbie was legally an adult now, or that Archie was half way through his thirties; they’d keep quiet and let him have his peace.

Once both Dad and Granny were gone from the room, Debbie sighed and sat back in the armchair, relishing the familiar comfort; just a bit longer, a few more weeks, and then things would be even better. For now though, it was time to enjoy the comforts of her childhood for just a bit longer.

“What are you looking so smug about now?” Archie demanded lightly, as he peered over his magazine at her, not lowering it enough to suggest that he deemed her of any real interest; he must have been growing bored of her by now, Debbie thought, after all, it had been a while since he had moved back into the family house.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Debbie purred, crossing one leg over the other and adjusting her position so that she could stare back at him, one eyebrow quirked; Archie had been especially annoying recently, but over the past seven years, she had become quite talented at perfecting the high-ground, remaining unaffected as Mum had always been. It was easier that way; people tended to leave her be and accept that she couldn’t be crossed lightly.

“I mean that stupid smirk you’ve had on your face since about six this morning.” Archie replied, sniffing disdainfully at her from across the room as he pointed at her; that was good, Debbie was actually buoyed further by his irritation, “Nobody’s that happy to see their grandparents.”

“Why shouldn’t I be happy?” Debbie inquired smarmily, laying her hands out, palms up, on the arms of the chair, making sure to hold Archie’s gaze as she spoke; it was her moment to shine, and she was going to savour it for as long as it took for the novelty to wear off, “I aced my A Levels, I’m eighteen and free at last to pave my own way, and in a few mere weeks, I will be heading to Medical School.”

“Still confident that you’re going to excel there, are you?” Archie asked, lifting his eyebrows to and smirking at her; he _always_ did that, he always tried to bring her down and ruin her fun, make her feel as if she was doing something wrong, even though she hadn’t messed anything up in years.

“Of course I’m confident.” Debbie assured him, in a carefully honeyed tone; perhaps when she had been younger she might have risen to the bait, but now she had honed her own particular brand of confidence, chiselled and fashioned over years of success in various clubs and artistic ventures, it didn’t matter what he said, “Has my utter _perfection_ in all my ventures ever faltered?”

“The steady inflation of your head definitely hasn’t faltered.” Archie muttered smugly; while Debbie gaped furiously at him before reasserting her cool expression, he placed his magazine on the table between them, beside the plate of biscuits, and sat forwards, resting his joined hands on his knees, as if he wanted to have a real heart to heart.

“You can mock, but I’m on my way out Archie.” Debbie remarked wryly, using all of her energy to prevent herself from sounding too petulant; she hadn’t quite perfected the suave nonchalance that she wanted yet, but she still had a few more years to become the powerful woman that she envisaged, “Freedom at last; a chance to really dig my teeth in and enjoy life.”

“Oh, I see.” Archie replied patronisingly, nodding and pretending to roll his eyes to the ceiling in thought, “What you mean ‘freedom’, is that there’ll be no more sneaking down the off license while Dad’s at church; instead you’ll be free to dip your toes into the many booze serving joints surrounding your new adulthood.”

It was this kind of talking down that Debbie was going to blow away when she had grown into herself, of that she was certain; she _knew_ that she was outstanding in every _task_ she put her mind to, and as she had crossed the line between young adolescent to young woman, it had become apparent that her personality could be pretty outstanding too.

True, she had to tuck away certain parts of it; don’t talk about the odd things that she liked, that was a given. Nobody wanted to hear about Star Trek, or her grandparents and their affiliation with the Air Force; that just wasn’t quite what people wanted to hear from a woman. But that didn’t mean she could compensate by being overly feminine and wishy washy either; she had never leaned that way, so it was a relief that for her to be taken seriously in the workplace and the world, she could retain her own degree of femininity.

That had been a lesson quickly learnt. Debbie hadn’t thought that she had looked particularly interesting in her waitress’s gear when she had turned sixteen, but apparently it was enough to have men of all ages calling her sweetheart and talking down to her; that was easily solved though. All it took was to draw upon her natural instincts.

Debbie had never been ‘girly’, Mum had complained about that fact often enough; she was bright enough and articulate enough, confident enough as well, that she could hold her own in a fight, be it verbal, or rarely, physical, though she _did_ avoid those purely by getting in a few choice words to begin with.

So she wasn’t going to stand for Archie patronising her, or thinking that he knew better; if it was the last thing that Debbie Richardson did, she was going to get the high status job that _she_ chose, and she was going to own it just as well as any of the men, and if she wanted to _enjoy_ herself and take control of her own life, then she was damn well going to do that, no matter what he thought.

“I’m over age.” Debbie responded when she felt that she was calm and not as indignant as she might have been before she inhaled deeply and steadied her breathing; he was only her brother, he didn’t have the right to tell her she couldn’t drink as if she were a child.

That didn’t stop the little prickle of guilt from appearing in her stomach, flickering to the base of her throat; there was nothing wrong with her drinking… _now_ …

“You weren’t when you and your school chums were sneaking bottles of vodka into your cases.” Archie retorted, lowering his voice as his eyes flickered towards the door to the hall; Granny and Dad couldn’t even be heard any more, but Debbie was still caught between gratitude at his thoughtfulness and horror at what he was saying, and her eyes widened as he spoke, “Don’t look at me like that, I know what you girls are like, rebelling against the private sector.”

“You didn’t tell Dad did you?” Debbie asked stiltedly, barely louder than a whisper; she was an adult now, and he couldn’t do a thing, but Dad’s disappointment was too much of a pain not to scare her; she stood by the opinion that there was nothing wrong with her friends and her having a drink every few months when they could, and indulging more when it became legal, but she knew that Dad wouldn’t agree.

“What? That at thirteen your mate from abroad was coming back from her holidays with bottles of rum?” Archie snorted, frowning pitifully at her, his eyebrows rising; perhaps he was more perceptive than she had given him credit for; or perhaps she shouldn’t have let him pick her up from school when Dad had been busy, “No, of course I didn’t tell him; you’ve got more than enough dirt on me to wreak revenge if I did.”

“Yes, well.” Debbie cleared her throat and tried to relax the tension that had stiffened her shoulders without her notice; it was difficult, but she managed to draw some degree of strength from Archie’s belief that she might actually _tell_ someone about the things he didn’t want telling, “Like I said; a few weeks from now, you can tell _your_ mates that your sister’s a medical student.”

“Soon to be a doctor?” Archie inquired, leaning forwards with his hands wound together on his lap.

“Oh, yes…” Debbie replied wanly, smirking thinly and fleetingly at him; she always forgot about that, at least until someone else brought it up, inflaming the few shimmers of trepidation that had nested in her chest when she had first decided to pursue that particular career, “That too.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, quiet enough that Dad and Granny’s laughter could be heard faintly from the kitchen; Debbie wished that it would stay that way, but as usual, Archie just couldn’t leave her alone.

“Look, Debbie, I’m going to cut to the chase here.” Archie remarked, suddenly serious as he tried to catch her eye, but failed dismally; when she said nothing in retaliation, he took a deep breath, and didn’t quite blurt out, but didn’t quite ask calmly, “Why are you studying medicine?”

“Since when do you care?” Debbie retorted petulantly, pouting her lips and slipping down into the armchair, to pick idly at the loose threads; it was _her_ decision, and _she_ was going to ace it, no matter what him, or Dad thought, just because she knew that she could.

There was no denying that when the time for decisions had rolled around, and she had needed to choose A Levels to carry her through later life, Debbie had had no clue what she had wanted to do. So she had taken one final look at her cherished Star Trek, before packing it somewhere safe and out of reach, and decided that she wasn’t going to throw her life away on something silly just because she might like the sound of it; Nurse Chapel had been her idol, doing what Kirk never could and proving to Mum that anyone could do anything…and if the thrilling life of the medical student happened to sound rather fun, then why not choose that route?

“Call it an unusual surge of brotherly concern.” Archie offered the barest of explanations, which Debbie didn’t believe for a second; he could make sympathetic faces all he likes, it didn’t make them true, not when he had only started _being there_ in the last few years, “Anyway, I _know_ that Dad had words with you about this.”

Oh yes, Dad had had words with her about it; they still rang in her head whenever she found herself drowned by the sudden realisation that she wasn’t an adult, damn it, she was a child, and not ready to make this kind of decision yet; ‘ _Debbie, I know you’re very good at basic first aid, but honestly dear, you’d let the patients bleed to death before you went near them with a scalpel’_.

It was scary enough, and Dad’s doubts only made Debbie’s stomach turn and clench more than it already did…but it also made her want to shove her success in all of their faces, and get on and live her life without everyone looking over her shoulder. There was no need for them to be there, she could do it herself. _She_ knew that, the evidence was loud and clear; it was just everyone else that couldn’t see it. The moment that Debbie could be with strangers, be with people that she could present herself to as the successful, talented, confident woman that she was…it would be like breathing a breath of fresh air.

“He was dubious at first about my interest in the subject, but once we talked it over, he agreed that he’d be proud whatever I did.” Debbie quipped, stubbornly glaring at her hands as she picked at the arms of the chair; that was almost true…Dad wasn’t going to bother her anymore was actually what they had agreed.

“Would Mum be proud?” Archie asked, without even faltering; his words were like knives to the gut, and Debbie wished that she could pretend to be cold and unaffected like Mum used to be, even though she had hated it at the time. Even if she could, she didn’t think that it would stop the hot prickling behind her eyes.

It hadn’t been anyone’s fault; it hadn’t even been dramatic. One morning Debbie had been discussing O Level choices with Mum, who had wanted her to do the more essay based ones, and to avoid anything too taxing like Maths of Science, which Debbie had always struggled with. The same evening Dad got a call to say that on the way home from work, Mum’s bike had slipped in the rain and the nearest car hadn’t seen.

Archie was far away, doing his job at the time, but Dad and Debbie had ended up at the hospital barely an hour after the ambulance; Dad had paced a lot, while Debbie had watched the doctors rushing around and offering her small comforts.

It hadn’t been a good day…that was all that Debbie could muster when she thought about it. She could barely remember much else; Archie said that she was blocking it out, but she really couldn’t…probably because most of the next few days had been spent in bed while Dad had made arrangements and cried, and kept himself busy, and cried, while Archie rushed home and moved back in as if there needed to be a second adult there.

For a shining moment Debbie had considered doing what Mum had asked, and sticking to Drama, to Art, and to Music, maybe even English and History, just to pad things out, just to make Mum proud. Then she had decided that she was never, ever doing that. Debbie loved English, she really did; she loved the books, the poems, the way that language could be used to create anything from emotions to games.

But she wouldn’t do that. Mum would hate it if she knew that her daughter had devoted the latter half of her childhood to hard sciences and mathematics, but Debbie was going to show her that she couldn’t just do it, she could ace it every time. She was going to become a doctor, after enjoying being a medical student in the most ladylike way…and she would still be a success. If there was a Heaven, and if Mum was looking down on her, she’d realise that she had always been wrong, and be proud of Debbie’s efforts to prove her so.

Maybe Mum wouldn’t be proud _now_ , but give it a few years, and wait for the Dr at the front of her name…then Mum would _have_ to be proud of her, without Debbie having to tone down her talents.

“Mum isn’t here. She wanted me to do well, and I’m going to do well.” Debbie remarked dryly, squaring her jaw and lifting her gaze to glare at Archie, lip trembling despite her best efforts, “Stop trying to ruin that.”

“Debbie…you do know that doctors aren’t nearly as glamorous as they look on the television.” Archie continued to try and reason with her, as if she hadn’t spoken at all; for a moment she wished that he would go back to the days that he would argue with her despite her age, and stop trying to act like he was the grown-up even though she was officially one too, “If you do this, I think you’re going to get a huge shock.”

“I know what doctors are like.” Debbie sneered, allowing herself a moment of sweet release before she had to contain herself again; he was only her brother, he’d get over it, “I’ve seen what they have to do, and spent quite a long time watching – but, oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. You weren’t there for that bit.”

“Fine.” Archie’s expression seemed to shutter, and his knuckles whitened where his hands clenched together; he didn’t sit back, or move at all really, simply stared at her, his eyes narrowed as if in accusation, “Be that way.”

“I’m going to.” Debbie promised curtly, winding her arms around her middle as she did so; one deep inhalation, and she was steady again, and she could try and put the last five minutes out of her mind, “That’s what I’ve decided.”

“But Debbie!” Archie exclaimed, letting his hands fall open at the palms as he pinched his expression and shook his head, pressing his lips together in an attempt to stay cool; just this once, he couldn’t be his usual self and not care at all, he had to try and interfere where he had no right to, “Why on Earth are you choosing to do _this_ with your life?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Debbie shrugged nonchalantly, looking here and there around the oddly ornate lounge instead of meeting his gaze; a part of her was afraid that if she looked, he might look back into her soul and dredge up the slithers of doubt, as ridiculous as that sounded, “Being a med student sounds like a lot of fun.”

“I see.” Archie surmised, rolling his eyes, his voice laced with a disappointed despair that he had no right to possess; he would never understand her reasons, or that something inside her, like a hand pulling her forwards, wanted to take this particular path, no matter how tricky or unnerving a path it was, “What you want to do is go out and party and get drunk with other med students.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Debbie retorted, plastering on a smirk that she didn’t quite feel; that was exactly what she was going to do, and when she got there she would enjoy it as much as she had at school, once the niggles of guilt faded away, “I’ve worked damn hard, why shouldn’t I go out and have fun while I’m still young enough to do it?”

“The small matter of becoming a doctor in the meantime?” Archie spoke as if to a child, but Debbie could understand his reasoning, to a point; becoming a doctor would be hard, and tough, and perhaps even emotionally crippling, but she could do it. Even so, she had a hard time picturing herself doing it.

“Yes, well…” Debbie prevaricated, only to have Archie sigh and start speaking again, refusing her the time needed to come up with a decent response.

“Debbie, listen to me, I’m trying to help you here.” Archie insisted, trying for the pleasant approach this time; it seemed that years of arguing had made some sort of impact on him, though he hadn’t quite grasped that she didn’t believe he really cared as much as he said he did, “I don’t think you’re making the right choice for your future.”

“What would you suggest I do?” Debbie groaned, slouching into the armchair; it was all well and good telling her to spread her wings and be better, but the pieces were already laid out on the board, and there was no turning back even if she wanted to, “All of my qualifications are geared towards medicine.”

“Do something related to the things you like.” Arthur answered simply, smiling wanly, as if that were knowledge that could genuinely impact her in any way; he just didn’t understand, and he never would. He had spent so long far away, pursuing his dream and wafting easily from running coffee to assisting models, to designing outfits for catwalks, that he was completely out of touch with what his sister’s life even consisted of anymore.

“You mean, in the way that _you_ like the women inside your fancy clothes.” Debbie inquired tactlessly, quirking an eyebrow at him from across the room; he could pretend to be the good child all he liked, she _knew_ what he got up to as well as he knew what _she_ got up to.

“Don’t be sexist.” Archie scolded her, and Debbie frowned apologetically, momentarily ashamed of herself, though she wasn’t entirely sure why; then a salacious smile crept across Archie’s lips, and he leered conspiratorially, “The _men_ too…”

Just like that, the harsh mood was broken, and as their eyes met Debbie found herself smiling too, swallowing back the tentative nosing of a laugh as it appeared ready in her throat; Archie scoffed, but the tension in his limbs eased. They may not be close, but there were some things that couldn’t not be shared in those few moments every now and then when sibling loyalty shone through the misery; it was no secret to _her_ how Archie lived his life, and she supposed…if he trusted her with something that some might call shameful when it was nothing harmful at all, then there was no reason to doubt that he could be trusted with the flicker of insecurity that she possessed.

“Don’t tell Dad?” Debbie asked faintly, tentatively; she would never dream of questioning the way that Archie was, but Dad was old fashioned, and no matter how good of a man he was, he was also set in his ways, and she didn’t know quite how he would react. That his only son had chosen to devote his life to fashion was peculiar enough in his eyes.

“Definitely don’t tell Dad.” Archie agreed in hushed tones; that was all it took to make the clenching in Debbie’s throat cease, as remarkably, the fear of disappointment spanned between them like a bridge across a stormy sea, “But, in all seriousness Debbie, I do my designs, and I dress up the models, and I put my ideas in front of the bosses every week, because I _like_ creating outfits and having them paraded here and there.”

“Yes Archie, I know.” Debbie sighed, looking back at him miserably; the conversation was pointless, but she wasn’t going to stop him from staging it.

“Good.” Archie acknowledged, shifting as his hands moved to gesture demonstratively, with sharp cutting motions through the air; he always had some sort of a long term plan up his sleeve, unlike Debbie, who much preferred to make hers up on the spot, finding them much more fun that way, “So, knowing that…if you could be doing anything, and I mean _anything_ with your life, what would it be?”

“Hmmm…” Debbie hummed thoughtfully, and pretended to actually consider it; she almost kicked her feet up onto the table, but chose instead to hook one leg over her knee, avoiding Granny’s wrath if she entered the room, “Patiently waiting for them to invent Starfleet.”

“Precisely!” Archie exclaimed, grinning as if she had spoken words of wisdom, or given in to his incessant nagging; sometimes, she thought, it was as if she had grown up and he had devolved to compensate for that loss, while still trying to parade himself as the adult of the house, “That’s what I’m talking about – you _like_ Star Trek!”

“But I also understand that dwelling on fiction is just silly.” Debbie replied plaintively, meeting his gaze; her heart clenched a little, as in her mind she saw Kirk and McCoy shaking their heads at her, while to the side Spock nodded appreciatively; one out of three wasn’t bad, “We live in the real world Archie, one I’m quite good at navigating-”

“You’re charming and you’ve got a quick mind.” Archie interjected, but it didn’t sound as if he were complimenting her; in fact, Debbie was sure that he winced as he said it, as if the very words hurt when they passed over his tongue, “That doesn’t mean you should just do _anything_ because there’s drinks and parties involved.”

“I’m studying medicine.” Debbie stated simply, tonelessly; he could debate with her all he liked, she wasn’t going to change her mind.

“But you’ve never shown the slightest interest in the subject matter!” Archie exclaimed, now gazing imploringly at her as if that might actually make a difference where it never had before.

“What are you suggesting I do?” Debbie asked, making sure that her exasperation was clear and understandable even within his obviously addled mind, “Archie, I have chosen a career path that is not only fun to begin with, but is also academically and socially appreciated, enough at least that Mum would have been happy had she been here.”

“Debbie…just think about it.” Archie almost begged her, leaning so far forwards out of the sofa that he might have been having to keep to stand to keep himself upright, “You used to – apparently still _do_ , dream about joining Starfleet. What was that about?”

“I was a child.” Debbie remarked sourly, glancing towards the door when a particularly loud clink emanated from the kitchen; the very last thing that she wanted was to dredge all of this up in front of Dad, not again, “Children want silly things.”

“Humour me.” Archie instructed, and then said no more, even though Debbie was expecting something, anything that she could argue with; he must have been practicing.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Debbie replied flippantly, as if it were no real matter; it was the whole world, but she wanted nothing more than to tuck it all away and forget what she couldn’t have, rather than linger on dreams, “I just liked the idea of travelling to far away places, and breaking the rules to save the day…I liked the crew and how close they were, and I liked…it seemed like an adventure. But adventures don’t exist in the real world.”

“Maybe not.” Archie agreed reluctantly, grimacing at his own words, “But I really, really think that going into medicine is a mistake. I know you, you’re going to hate it…no matter how much booze you throw down your throat.”

“Why do you _care_ all of a sudden?” Debbie demanded, sitting a little more stiffly in the armchair, fingers digging into the fabric; this was the man, after all, that had once told her younger self that babies came from the bottom self at Tesco’s, and that they could easily swap her for a less naughty one like Mum swapped her dresses that didn’t fit quite right. She had spent months searching for the baby boxes, only to have Dad scoop her up and hush her tears away when her failure to find them made her cry; that had been back when she was tiny enough to scoop up.

“I’ve always cared.” Archie told her, but she could see his throat bob as he swallowed his guilt, as his eyes darted towards the carpet; too little, too late, but he was still trying; he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes before he spoke again, “I just…you know, you’re a lot easier to talk to now that you can hold adult conversations.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Debbie asked, her voice withheld as she stared at him, ignoring the uncomfortable ripple underneath her skin; she didn’t like these types of conversation at all, they were all too…touchy…personal.

“If we’d have been able to talk when you were younger, there’d be no reason for you to question my motives.” Archie explained sadly, and Debbie just couldn’t understand why; why was he frowning and pouting like that when he held all of the metaphorical cards in their relationship?

“Is it because Mum’s not here so you want to nag me instead?” Debbie inquired caustically, immediately regretting asking such a horrible question; she had seen that it would hurt him most, so she had used it. She didn’t _want_ to hurt him, she didn’t even mean it, but for a moment, it had made her feel sickeningly better.

“No.” Archie replied softly, his usual confidence seemingly vacant; it was that more than anything that made Debbie feel as if she were choking on bitter air, “It’s because I think you could do so much better.”

“See, you _do_ sound like Mum.” Debbie spat weakly, suddenly on the verge of tears again; it was horrible, and wrong, and it was time to shut up and stop talking now.

“I’m not talking fame or glory.” Archie insisted, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone as he glared at her, “I just think you could do better than making the most of _now_ …I’ve never heard you talk about what’s going to happen when _now_ is over.”

“I’ll think about that when I get to it.” Debbie informed him shortly, crossing her arms and fighting the temptation to pull her knees to her chest; it was like running in circles with him today.

“On your head be it.” Archie retorted caustically, and with that he snatched his magazine from the table and yanked the pages open; his eyes didn’t move across the pages, and Debbie thought that he looked almost angry.

She didn’t have time to find out, as in that moment, Dad entered the room again, followed by Granny, who insisted that she explain all about the new course that she was taking; anything to help Debbie reassert her cheerful demeanour before Dad could see that she was unhappy.

oOoOoOo

“I _know_ I don’t have to, but I _want_ to.” Debbie muttered under her breath, assuring Dad once again that she didn’t need him to house her when there was perfectly good accommodation near the school she would be attending.

The four of them were seated around the dinner table, and Granny was talking about something or other with Archie; Dad had taken it upon himself to ask yet again pointless questions that were meant to assist his daughter, but mostly just made her want to leave home more quickly.

“Of course, I know you do.” Dad whispered back to her, missing her point entirely, “But, if you wanted to hang around a bit longer, just dip your toes into the course and your new flat, then that would be fine too.”

“Dad-” Debbie started to whine, but Granny interrupted her by setting her cutlery down with a clang.

“Alright you lot, I’d like to make a toast.” Granny announced, eyeing the two of them knowledgeably before lifting her glass of sherry into the air; as Archie moved to help move her chair for her, accommodating the woman’s rise to her feet, she batted him away with a wrinkled hand, “Oh, stop fussing Archie, I’m not that old.” he slumped back in his seat, and she smiled indulgently down at him, “Good boy. Now, Debbie…I just wanted to wish you luck one last time.”

“There’s no need Granny, I’m not going far.” Debbie assured her, smiling up at her grandmother with genuine warmth; no matter what else was going on, Granny had always doted on her, and made miserable trips worth enduring.

“No, but you _are_ going.” Granny replied sagely, and she turned her attention to her granddaughter, pale eyes boring into hers, “This isn’t just congratulations; I wanted you to know that while I’m very proud of you for achieving more than anyone else on my side of the family, I don’t want you to enjoy it too much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Debbie asked, glancing towards Archie in confusion; that wasn’t the sort of thing she had been expecting. Go on and fulfil your destiny, yes; don’t enjoy yourself…it lacked a certain something.

“It means we all think you’re making a mistake.” Archie murmured in response, his eyes fixed on the plates in front of him, as if he wasn’t quite brave enough to speak in front of the older generations.

“No it doesn’t Archie.” Dad snapped, glaring pointedly at his son; the one thing that he had never endured, even before Mum had died, was his children needlessly bitching at each other, no matter if he had misinterpreted what was being said, “Shut up.”

“Now, now.” Granny scolded them both, and both men huffed and looked away; it might as well have just been Debbie and Granny in the room, “I don’t think you’re making a mistake Debbie, dear, this is just some practical advice. I remember being a young girl, and I know _exactly_ the sort of thing you get up to.”

“How d’you mean?” Debbie replied faintly; it was difficult to be suave, or anything that she had built for herself with the older woman, not like it was with Dad, or Archie. Somehow she always knew, and there had never been any reason to change for her.

“Having too much fun, that’s all.” Granny elaborated kindly, smiling down at Debbie as if she really believed in her; it was a nice look, and instilled a nice feeling in her chest, “Debbie, it may seem like you’re finally free to go and have fun, but you’re not. You’re free to get your head down and work hard, and then, only once you’re a doctor, can you have fun.”

“But, of course, make sure to enjoy yourself.” Dad interjected swiftly, placing a hand over Debbie’s; it was hard to know what he wanted from her, but happiness and success seemed a safe bet. There had been days when he would say she could be anything she wanted, do anything, and he’d support her…it was hard to tell whether he still meant that.

“No, don’t enjoy yourself.” Granny continued sternly, offering Dad a strict glare before pointing demonstratively at Debbie, making it clear that this was for _her_ , and not for group participation, “If you enjoy this next stage, then you’re not doing it right. This should be a struggle. Just bear in mind, dear, that if it’s the sort of struggle that makes you want to give up, then give up, and then go out and find a struggle that makes you want to fight it through to the end.”

“Thank you Granny.” Debbie replied politely, but she had no idea what that meant; she didn’t think that she would ever know, and she wasn’t going to act on those words, but the thought was a touching one, “I’ll think about it.”

“See that you do.” Granny told her, as she lowered herself back into her seat, “I have no doubt that you can become a doctor, I just want you to know that it’s okay to do something else as well, so long as you don’t waste _now_ having fun.”

“I never said you couldn’t _do_ it,” Archie muttered, head still down, “I just said that you shouldn’t.”

“That’s enough Archie.” Dad scolded him, keeping his voice level, “I’ve already had this conversation with her, and you are not a part of it.”

Debbie let the conversation wash over her, and drowned the rest of the dinner out; now everyone had had their say, and none of them had changed her mind. It didn’t matter, not really.

oOoOoOo

Hours later, their words still wafted to and fro in her mind.

Debbie was going to medical school, and the doubts, natural doubts, were still there, as she lay in bed, wrapped around her duvet in the dark, her eyes hot and threatening to dampened, though she fought off tears as best she could.

They were baseless doubts.

She _knew_ that she could breeze through every test, memorise every detail, charm every teacher, befriend anyone that she chose and seduce just as many; obstacles were easy to overcome, and even though the thought of actual medical work still made her stomach turn, she knew that she could get over it and succeed just like she did with everything she tried.

There wasn’t a single thing that Debbie had done that she hadn’t excelled at when she put in a little effort; she was an adult now, and it was time to truly shine.

And she had never been more scared in her life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait

**Chapter Three**

One Week into Medical School

Medical school wasn’t quite what Debbie had been expecting; in actuality, _life_ wasn’t quite what Debbie had been expecting. It wasn’t good, and it wasn’t bad; it was simply jarring, and although she wasn’t struggling at all to adjust, it was more difficult to breathe than she had planned, and her nerves existed in a state of being constantly frayed.

The lectures went much like Debbie had been anticipating, filled with medical jargon and science that didn’t quite appeal to her, but was necessary to learn if she wanted to pursue a career as a doctor; she understood everything when she heard it, but made sure to note everything down for when the facts inevitably left her mind. It was because of that that Debbie gained her professors’ favours, as a studious and attentive student.

Debbie had been able to struggle through many subjects that she had found tedious and taxing in order to qualify for medical school in the first place, so this was hardly an issue; what did make her stomach clench and a lump form in her throat was the realisation that in two years’ time they would be moving on the practical learning, in medical facilities.

Perhaps it simply hadn’t sunk in that her chosen path involved actual contact with medicines or disease, or god forbid wounds, or perhaps her confidence was for once beginning to waver; either way, by the second day of school Debbie was forcing herself to accept the prickling under her skin, and hope that she would embrace the subject by the time the gloopier aspects crossed her path.

She had to embrace it, because if she didn’t, Debbie had no idea what she might do. It was no matter though; Debbie excelled at everything she did, so there would be no problems or hiccups. In the meantime, she was rather enjoying her new adult life free of restrictions.

The flat that Debbie had moved into was nice, and her flatmate Nora was another medical student; she was short and dumpy, with thick black hair and dark skin, but she need not have had an appearance at all as her eagerness for life made her light up whichever room she was in. Even growing up, Debbie had never had what could be called a best friend, only friends in every corner that she could just about rely upon; it was a stroke of luck that Nora was just as terrified by her new life as Debbie was, so needed a closest friend of convenience.

When they weren’t in lectures or in class, Debbie and Nora would go out and socialise with the other students as best they could; no matter what Granny had said, now was the time to enjoy life, and Debbie made the most of the bars and clubs that opened their doors for young people just like her.

Everyone visited these places, and she had developed a particular aptitude for acting properly under the influence; a little voice in the back of her mind, that sounded awfully like Dad, would mutter occasionally that perhaps she was drinking too much, but Debbie dismissed it without a second thought. She drank no more than anyone else, and when she did, she always stopped before she became truly inebriated; by keeping control, Debbie could boost her confidence and allure, while drinking every day if she pleased.

Yes, her studies aside, Debbie was having _fun_ , for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t just partying either that kept her entertained; it may have only been a week, but she was already perfecting her flirting capabilities.

During her time in boarding school, Debbie had discovered that she had a particular pull over young men…when she pleased; on a normal day she could go about undisturbed, but it had come to her attention that when she played aloof, acted the intelligent, mysterious, utterly confident woman that existed when she peeled away her worries and her doubts, and utilised her drawling wit that existed every moment of the day, she could appeal to whomever she desired.

Debbie’s newly mastered charm wasn’t just for fun though; it was a valuable life skill. It could get her allies and bring teachers and employers on side; anything for an easy, fuss free life. If only such a life skill didn’t falter when she was faced with someone that she would rather _like_ to impress.

He wasn’t tall, per say, but neither was he short; he was in fact, the perfect height, and he had the sort of build that suggested he had once played a gruelling sport such as rugby. Debbie was almost sure that his name was Zachary, or something similar, though she had only really spoken two words to him, as the other students seemed eager to bunch off into groups when they migrated to the bars. He was blonde, but not ridiculously so, and his face was round yet sharp, and he smiled widely yet thinly, as if he were keeping a secret.

The only reason Debbie knew this was because he sat on the other side of the lecture hall, and every now and then she would catch him watching her, and then abruptly turning his head back to the front of the class. Something about that made her feel warm and tingly inside, as if her muscles were stretching after years of stillness.

It had been years since she had been in a school environment with anyone other than other girls; when Debbie had wanted male attention, she had to go and find it herself, and even now, she had to make the effort to appear alluring and say the right words. Receiving such attention without any intent…that was odd, but she couldn’t say that she wasn’t enjoying it. The wise thing to do might have been to approach him as she would anyone else, but alas, it had been only a week, and she didn’t want to risk having misjudged his wandering gaze.

Which is why it came as a surprise when, after the Friday morning lecture, Debbie was walking down the hall, hoping that she might bump into Nora, but not worried if she didn’t , and she felt a tap on her shoulder. Debbie turned quickly, glancing over her shoulder but not really expecting anyone to be there; how wrong she was.

Falling into step beside her, shy smile on his face, hands so deep in his pockets that it might not have even been him if his eyes hadn’t been boring into hers, was Zachary (or whatever his name was), his coat and rucksack so out of place that he must have rushed to put them on.

“Hey!” he greeted her brightly, a little breathily, as if he had jogged to catch up to her, jerking his arm as if he meant to give a little wave; despite the many smart things that appeared in Debbie’s head, none of her words made it past her throat, “Hello.”

“Hello.” Debbie replied tentatively, making sure to keep walking lest she be left behind; so he _had_ been looking at her, not that she knew quite what to make of that and the odd flutter of nervousness that appeared in her chest at being approached by him, “You’re um...Zachary, yes?”

Manners, they were the most important thing; be polite and make friends, that was the best way to survive. Hastily demonstrating your superiority and confidence also worked, but she decided to leave it a few moments before she completely cut him off from the _her_ part of herself.

“Zach Flannigan.” He corrected me, smirking as if proud that she knew his name at all; he wasted no time in blurting out his next question, which made Debbie just a tad more comfortable, as she realised that just as with school in general, he was just as nervous as she was, “Debbie right?”

“That’s right.” Debbie smiled warmly, hoping that the prickle in her cheeks wasn’t a blush; that would be embarrassing, especially as Zach had extracted his hand from his pocket and was holding it out for her to shake, as if he were a proper gentleman in scuffed jeans and a baggy jumper.

“I thought so; I’ve been paying attention.” Zach remarked releasing her hand after a moment too long as he smirked all the more, and made an odd face that Debbie was sure he meant to be suave; as it was, he remained perfectly attractive, even as he laughed awkwardly and dropped her hand, “Not in a creepy way…the professor says your name a lot.”

“I’m not becoming a favourite am I?” Debbie asked hastily, turning to meet his gaze, eyes wide as her hand hovered in the air, an inch from grasping his wrist; it wasn’t the most important matter in that moment, but she couldn’t help but worry. It was only the first week, and even though she wanted to succeed, she didn’t want to alienate herself by being appearing too eager.

“Of course you are; you’re quite charming.” Zach answered smoothly, regaining his composure and puffing out his chest, as he managed to turn her fear into a positive; Debbie wasn’t sure where he was walking, but she stayed by his side nonetheless, “I wouldn’t worry about it though; we all want to do well, no one’s begrudging you that.”

“How could you possibly know that I’m charming?” Debbie inquired coyly, making sure that she kept her eyes forwards, glancing only fleetingly at him; the flattery was enough to rekindle her wit, and remind her that it should be expressed at all junctures, so that her reputation remained intact, “I’m not debating that fact, but I’m sure the only things _you’ve_ heard coming out of my mouth are straight from the text book.”

“Of course you’re charming.” Zach retorted, his eyebrows dipping as if she had spoken the height of foolishness; he was sort of skipping sideways now, his head nodding as he looked her up and down appreciatively, “I mean, _look_ at you; you’ve got that mysterious and smooth, super talented and gorgeous femme fatale thing going on.”

“I’m not a femme fatale.” Debbie replied shortly, giving him a stern look; she wanted respect, perhaps a little reverence, but _that_ wasn’t what she wanted anyone to think. Women didn’t get respect for their looks or their...sexuality…and she refused to be misconstrued, no matter how nice it felt having some positive attention.

“Oh, god, no, of course not.” Zach raised his hands in surrender, but he didn’t give up, his smirk growing more amused, and a trifle sheepish as he dutifully kept up pace with her; if anything, his determination made Debbie inwardly flutter all the more, “That’s just the closest thing that I could think of to what I’m actually thinking.”

“Try lady.” Debbie suggested wryly, unable to keep herself from smiling as she met his gaze; she _did_ enjoy having someone’s complete attention, especially when that person was one that she had been watching from afar for the best part of a week, and not someone who felt the need to criticise, “Lady’s far more likely to win women round than femme fatale.”

“Hmmm, maybe.” Zach agreed, to his credit sparing a second to thoughtfully scrunch his face; then he grinned again and seemed to spring as he walked, as he started speaking once again, “So…I was wondering if you wanted to grab lunch with me?”

“I…sure.” Debbie had been about to say something clever, before her brain caught up with her; there was no harm in being sharp though, that was part of her appeal, and would help to keep a decent distance between herself and him if it turned out that he wasn’t quite what she expected, “You’ve never spoken to me before, so I suppose there’s some sort of end result expected here.”

“I just thought it might be nice to become friends.” Zach answered, not lacking for self-confidence as he skipped along beside her; there was something in his eyes that she didn’t quite believe, but she could sense that it was the good kind of lie, so she let herself be led outside.

“ _Right_ …well, if you want to be my friend then you’ll have to sell yourself.” Debbie drawled, deciding that she might as well flirt, test the waters, see what he would do; he was good looking and quite sweet at first glance, she couldn’t help but feel like she wanted to stay in his presence a little longer, “I can’t be distracted from my studies without good reason.”

“What do you consider a good reason?” Zach inquired, like a terrier awaiting some sort of signal before it bounded into action; Debbie couldn’t tell whether he was being quick or slow, but it was flattering nonetheless, “I bet I tick all the boxes.”

“Intelligence for a start.” Debbie informed him nonchalantly; it was true, she liked people that she could talk to, people who had enough humility that they wouldn’t clash with her own superior attitude, “Enough that it breeds self-awareness.”

“Ah – yeah, you’ve trapped me there.” Zach grimaced playfully, shaking his head and pressing his lips together; quick then, not slow, that was a point in his favour, “But, I _am_ at medical school; that’s not exactly a boast is it?”

“No, that’s fair.” Debbie allowed him that, and was glad that she did, as his smile really was quite lovely; clever humility wasn’t everything though, and she was determined to come through this with his admiration and flattering view of her intact, “A sense of humour.”

“Oh, I’m very witty.” Zach assured her, nodding fervently, adopting a sage expression; Debbie quirked an eyebrow at him, and cocked her head as he rambled, “Very sharp. Though not as sharp as you if I’m correct.”

“Hmmm.” Debbie hummed in wary acknowledgement; she had been won over already, but this banter was enjoyable.

“What about confidence and dashing good looks?” Zach inquired suddenly, extending his arms to his side as if presenting himself for inspection; Debbie lifted her eyes back to him and immediately felt a wash of shyness at the implication.

“That only matters if you’re angling for something else.” Debbie remarked wanly, attempting to sound self-assured but not quite feeling it; everything was still very new all around her, and even though the idea of having someone other than Nora around that she knew was appealing, it was also endlessly nerve-wracking.

“Good, because I totally am angling for something else.” Zach replied, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, part-way to a groan; Debbie pursed her lips and watched him from the corner of her eyes, “Now that we’ve established that I’d make a great friend, how d’you feel about making that lunch a date?”

“Why?” Debbie asked sternly; it was a precaution, just in case. She wouldn’t allow herself to make any mistakes; Granny would like that, she supposed.

“Because you’re _hot_ , and I’d like to get to know you before someone else does.” Zach explained as if it were no matter; the self-satisfied smirk was back, and even though Debbie formulated at least two smart retorts, her head was too fuzzy with the compliment to act on them.

“I suppose…sure.” Debbie agree, and smiled charmingly at him; there was no harm in enjoying whatever it was that he was offering, it might be fun, “You must be interested; I’ve barely used any of my more alluring traits.”

oOoOoOo

One and a Half Weeks into Medical School

Four days could change a lot; Debbie had never appreciated that fact before, but now she most definitely did. The lectures continued to make her head spin the moment she left the room, as if she had remained breathless for too long, but she was coping…mostly by not thinking about it…partly by taking refuge in the nights out that Nora would always attend with her.

The parties and outings were enough to make the hard work worth it; she was having fun, and that was all that mattered, as when the time came, she’d have worn herself out and she’d be prepared to grasp her chosen career by the horns and earn the respect that she deserved.

But the future was far away, and all Debbie had to think about now was the darkly lit club with music far too loud, none of which she recognised, old before her time as she was, and the cool glass in her hand. There were a few other students around, but they were all going about their own business.

“So are you and Zach a _thing_ now?” Nora inquired, already slurring slightly as she swayed not entirely deliberately to the music, glass in hand; she was nosy like that, but she meant well, and Debbie couldn’t begrudge her that.

“We’ve been on one date, Nora, I don’t think so.” Debbie replied, rolling her eyes, and keeping one hand on the bar behind her, so that she could stand perfectly still; it was something that she had perfected, the more lucid she became with increasing amounts of alcohol, “We talk a lot, but no, I don’t think we’re a _thing.”_

That wasn’t entirely true; the lunch date had gone well, and Zach had implied that he would see her again, but despite their frequent chats, they had barely seen each other over the past few days. Debbie had told herself that it was just a bit of fun, but she had been so charmed by his interest, in his complete belief that she was as good as she said she was, that she was already beginning to worry about the matter as much as she was her studies.

“Never mind Debbie, something will come up.” Nora assured her, patting her clumsily on the shoulder; she was quiet for only a moment or two, before she turned her head abruptly and asked in her most seriously conspiratorial tone of voice, “Hey, have you ever thought that maybe you might like girls more than boys?”

After pausing, taking a long sip of her drink, and then deciding that Nora’s expression was entirely open and curious, Debbie tried to answer as best she could given the amount of alcohol in her system; she could still think in full sentences, and was aware enough to know that her judgement was impaired, so she was _fine_.

“After discovering which way my brother swings, which would be _all_ ways, I suppose I gave it a moment’s thought.” Debbie admitted honestly, shrugging nonchalantly, “Then promptly dismissed the thought entirely.”

“So you’re not even curious?” Nora asked, her eyebrows rising to her frizzy hairline as she stared at Debbie with painfully open eyes; as she turned to face Debbie completely, it became apparent that she didn’t _need_ the bar to keep her upright, “Like, if a girl propositioned you, you wouldn’t say yes just to find out what it’s like?”

“I’m not sure…I…I might do…” Debbie murmured, lifting her glass to her lips again; she _had_ given it a moment’s thought when Archie had revealed his sexuality to her, but the subject still made her fidget ever so slightly; that fidgeting alone was enough to fuel the little voice in the back of her head that said, ‘oh, why not get the experience’, “Nora, are _you_ propositioning me?”

“ _Yeah_ …why not?” Nora replied, lowering her voice as if suggesting a secret mission, or a mad escapade, leaning into Debbie’s space, but not so much that it became uncomfortable, “We should just _do_ it, we’d only have to do it once to see what it was like.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Debbie retorted, her smirk flickering into an awkward laugh; the suggestion made her chest clench with nerves, not unlike those she felt when approached by attractive men, but without the warm flurry of attraction. Real nerves then, and actual trepidation; she had mastered many areas, but this one hadn’t even crossed her mind in any serious light.

“The same as you, so we’re technically both sober.” Nora promised, raising her glass to clink against Debbie’s; for a moment, she held a countenance that could have been mistaken for sobriety.

“Only a fool would argue with that kind of logic.” Debbie replied, nodding and sighing sagely; she was just drunk enough to actually believe that, as it added up, mathematically, “But Nora – just for my peace of mind, are you _actually_ propositioning me?”

“Yes, why not?” Nora shrugged nonchalantly, still beaming as only she could, ready to challenge the world; it still put Debbie on her guard though, but more in the sense that she might misstep, rather than from actual fear, “I’ve seen how good you are at flirting with the guys – I’m kinda jealous, want to know what it’d be like.”

“Really?” Debbie asked, her own smug pride overriding any sense of withdrawal that she might have been feeling; it occurred to her that maybe she was just a little curious, enough so that the drink in her system was making it easier to acknowledge. After all, what kind of adventuress didn’t test the waters?

“No.” Nora snorted into her drink, and suddenly Debbie felt a whole lot better; sexual advances she could deal with, but for a moment she had dreaded that Nora actually _felt_ something; not that that was a bad thing, but that part of her was still lingering on thoughts of Zach, “But you’re my friend right? So, if I’m gonna experiment, then I might as well do it with someone I can trust, huh?”

“Well, yes, that makes sense.” Debbie agreed, taking note of the way that Nora leaned in ever so slightly, as she turned options over in her head, “Nora, I know that I like to flatter myself in all areas, but I would really have no idea what to do.”

“It’s alright Debbie.” Nora promised, turning the hand around her glass into a wobbly point, as she motioned demonstratively, “I’ve been researching this for a while in the library and places, just for if I needed to know.”

“Have you been planning this?” Debbie inquired suspiciously, smirking as she quirked her eyebrows and watched Nora’s unabashed sincerity in action; it was a little odd, considering that Nora had never said a word before, but she couldn’t find a reason to be anything but flattered.

“No, I just wanted to know, and then I got more curious.” Nora explained as if it were no matter, batting her hand through the air; she fixed Debbie with a look that was charged with genuine curiosity and intrigue, “Aren’t you curious?”

“I guess.” Debbie admitted honestly, and she shrugged, taking another sip of her drink; there was the small matter though…“But I’m not attracted to women – at all.”

“So you don’t want to try it?” Nora’s joy seemed to falter for a moment, but she didn’t pout or insist; that alone was enough to quiet the niggling in Debbie’s guts, and remind her that she was in the part of her life where she should be having fun, and tasting the world.

“I…I didn’t say that.” Debbie insisted slowly, inhaling deeply to calm the nerves that bunched in her chest; Nora’s face lit up, and she jutted out her lips like a puppy or a kitten demanding attention, “Oh, don’t make that face – how am I supposed to say no to that face?”

“Don’t say no.” Nora replied as if that were simply enough; when Debbie didn’t answer straight away, she took a long sip of her drink, her eyes fixed on Debbie’s as she waited patiently.

“Oh… _alright_.” Debbie conceded, rolling her eyes and placing her glass on the bar; before she had even finished speaking, Nora had grinned and taken her hand, abandoning her glass to drag her away from the bar, “But don’t be surprised if I just lie there completely disinterested.”

oOo

Afterwards, late into the night, wrapped in their pyjamas and slouched on the communal sofas, Debbie mused that at the very least she had an interesting experience _not_ to write home about; she had wanted to have fun and explore life, and now, a week and a half in, she could say that she was.

“So Debbie…d’you like women now?” Nora inquired, as she nursed a mug of hot chocolate between her hands; the manic giggling of before was gone, but she was as cheerful and pleasant as always, smiling warmly as she dug her toes into the cushions.

“Not really.” Debbie replied regretfully, shaking her head and shrugging; she was feeling rather more confident now, as if one step on the path of life had been crossed, and now she was that little bit more knowledgeable, “That was fun, but I definitely only have eyes for strapping young men.”

“Thinking of Zach were you?” Nora teased, scrunching up her nose at the thought.

“Shut up!” Debbie scolded her lightly, nonetheless turning her head to pout and glare that the edge of the sofa; she _had_ been thinking of Zach, but that wasn’t anyone’s business but hers. She still wasn’t sure whether he would try to engage her again, so there was no point in discussing it.

“It’s alright.” Nora promised, seemingly unaffected, or simply just unconcerned; an odd sort of smirk curled her lips, and her cheeks darkened as her gaze wandered, “I definitely _do_ like women.”

“Good for you.” Debbie congratulated her, raising her own mug as if in a toast; she was pleased that her friend was happy and had gotten something out of the night’s events, even if she hadn’t, “I’ll tell you what; you keep an eye out for hot men, I’ll keep an ear out for suitable women, then we’ll trade.”

“That would be perfect if I didn’t think you should _so_ let Zach sweep you off your feet.” Nora retorted good-naturedly; she chuckled at the expression that must have appeared on Debbie’s face, a low snorting sound.”

“ _Is_ he planning to sweep me off my feet?” Debbie inquired guardedly, bringing her arms just a little more securely around her chest; her head was filled with enough romantic stories make her heart skip at the suggestion, but that didn’t stop her from feeling the trepidation that the idea brought, “I’ve only known him half a week, at the most.”

“Yeah, but he thinks you’re this sexy, amazingly aloof, super intelligent and witty woman.” Nora answered, tilting her head this way and that as she spoke, speaking as if her words were facts and non-disputable, “He’s completely _entranced_.”

“You know I’m _not_ entirely _all that_.” Debbie reminded her, wincing at her own unusual humility; if she couldn’t be honest with the friend that she lived with, then who could she be honest with? Although most of her façade was rooted in _her_ , there was a certain detachment from her anxieties that Debbie was engineering, quite consciously, just as Mum would have.

“ _I_ know, but _he_ doesn’t.” Nora exclaimed, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret; Debbie kept her mouth shut for once, so that she could hear what Nora had to say when she herself wasn’t sure what to do, “You _behave_ that way, and Zach’s willing to shower you with romantic gestures.”

“That might be nice.” Debbie murmured, eyes dropping down to look at her hands; then she remembered her integrity, and shook her head, clinging to the knowledge that no matter how much she ‘acted’, she wouldn’t lose herself for the sake of experience, “I don’t want _false_ romance though; if all he wants is…then I _don’t_ want that.”

“Look, Debbie, romantic gestures lead to romantic feelings.” Nora assured her, with the certainty of someone who knew the world and how it worked, “You’ll be seduced and he’ll just get more enamoured with you.”

“Perhaps…” Debbie sighed, and settled back into the sofa cushions; it wouldn’t be so bad to just let herself be carried away in this particular respect…there was so much else still in transition around her.

oOoOoOo

Three Weeks into Medical School

Life was good. True, Debbie was very deliberately putting her studies out of her mind when the lectures ended, and she could stop tapping the end of her pen against her knee as she desperately tried not to lose a single shred of information.

On the bright side, Zach had done exactly as Nora had said he would, and a mere smile was enough for Debbie to receive an invite to another date, and just like that, they were an item. Things moved faster than Debbie had thought they might, but just as Nora had promised, the warmth in her chest whenever Zach dedicated time to her, or demonstrated his amazement with her in the form of gifts and meals, grew ever more insistent.

“So what else are you into?” Zach inquired one evening, when they were both seated in a moderately expensive restaurant that he had splashed out on, and she had insisted she contribute to; he leaned across the table, turning her hand over in his, gazing into her eyes.

“My love of literature and the world isn’t impressive enough?” Debbie drawled, quirking her eyebrows at him; she loved his company, but there was still a lot to work out between them, “You don’t think attractive girls should enjoy history and its wondrous creations?”

“I think it’s _great_ that you love all of that.” Zach elaborated, raising his hands into the air between them, in a mimicry of surrender; his cheeky smile was all the reassurance that she needed, “It’s just that I don’t really like that sort of stuff, so I can’t talk to you about it.”

“Alright then.” Debbie remarked wryly, scrunching her nose in thought; his brutal honesty intertwined with his attempts at charm, were in fact perfectly charming as far as she was concerned, “I enjoy certain television shows, films, and other similar works of fiction.”

“Oh yeah?” Zach replied smugly, smirking and biting at the corner of his cheek as he sat back and crossed his arms atop the desk; he was trying, and that was enough for her, “That’s more my sort of thing.”

oOoOoOo

One Month into Medical School

Debbie wasn’t coping with the course; she hated medicine, she knew that now. There was nothing about becoming a doctor that appealed to her; definitely not the prickle of disgust that she felt in her guts whenever the professor discussed the practical uses of their subject. The essays were tricky too, and her abject hatred of the subject matter only made her head hurt when she tried to complete extra-curricular tasks.

But Zach loved it, and she had no doubt that he was going to be a fantastic doctor when the course was over. Which was good for her, in a way; Nora could smirk all she liked, but their relationship was going well despite the freshness of their acquaintance. Zach was in their flat most days, and he would revise out loud, proud of his knowledge and aptitude, while Debbie would listen and nod along; he took this to mean that she was wise and cool about the whole debacle, which was better than letting him know that she was confused and lost.

It was a good thing that her peers were just as eager for distraction as she was, Debbie mused, as she stood at the bar with Nora, watching Zach chat animatedly with one of his mates from the rugby society. Debbie didn’t know whether she’d be able to manage if she couldn’t drown out her nerves each night; she made sure that she was never too hung-over for classes, or so dizzy that she couldn’t recall her actions, but it was as if the dry stints during the day were the shakiest of her life.

For the first time in her life, Debbie began to worry that Archie might have been right.

“Are you alright?” Nora asked, nudging Debbie in the arm as she swayed slightly; she still wasn’t as steady on her feet as she could have been, but she was getting better as losing the slur in her voice, “You seem a bit wound up.”

“I’m not wound up.” Debbie countered, taking a large gulp of her drink anyway, as she tore her eyes from Zach’s back to meet Nora’s gaze; that was a lie, but she was good at lying, “I’m just tired of all this medicinal talk after a long day studying the subject.”

“Well, there’s only two things you can do to remedy that.” Nora replied knowledgeably, rolling her shoulders back with an air of authority that she only just had a right to; her proclivity for odd ideas was enough to ensure that her audience was always rapt with attention.

“What would that be?” Debbie drawled, giving Nora her most charming smile.

“You could get some more of this down your throat, or you could get Zach to sweep you away somewhere while I leave you both alone for the evening.” Nora explained, nodding to where Zach was now wildly gesticulating, to the amusement of his peers; she quirked her eyebrows and waited for Debbie’s response.

“I could do both.” Debbie replied after a moment’s thought; she needed something to take her mind off of the achingly difficult task that her professor had set, and besides, there was no harm in having as much fun as she possibly could.

“I bet you could.” Nora muttered, as she looked Debbie up and down appraisingly; then she giggled, and snorted, “I don’t know how you stay so…upright. You’ve had more to drink than I have and you’re barely wobbling.”

oOoOoOo

One Month and One Week into Medical School

“Zach, could you perhaps revise in your head?” Debbie requested, turning to glance over her shoulder to where Zach was sat at the table, his papers spread out around him, reading his notes aloud; he spent most nights revising in such a way, in her flat, but tonight she just couldn’t stomach it; she had barely been able to stomach that afternoon’s lecture, “I love you, but I’m…tired.”

It had been a long day, and Nora was out with some girl that Debbie had directed towards her in a fit of generosity; normally Debbie would be content to just listen to Zach and try to remember enough to get her through the next day, but all she wanted to do now was lie on the sofa and have a nap. If she could look elegant while doing so, then that was a bonus as far as she was concerned.

“Oh, sorry, course I can.” Zach replied hastily, turning in his seat to inspect her over the back of the sofa; he smiled wanly, and winked at her, oblivious to her underlying discomfort, “If you wanted, I could leave this until tomorrow…keep you entertained.”

“No, you’re alright.” Debbie reassured him, shaking her head and lying back on the cushions; she wanted the company, but she didn’t want to have to think about anything taxing, or to pose a threat to his educational success; she cared too much for that, “Make sure you’re up to date for when the professor picks on you.”

“Yeah…” Zach sighed fondly; she could feel his eyes still lingering on the back of her head, as if he were gazing lovingly at her from afar, his faith in her abilities so unbreakable, “You’ll breeze through the lessons.”

“Of course I will.” Debbie purred, not quite feeling the confidence that she laced through her tone; his faith in her was enough to keep her trying though, “I breeze through everything I do.”

One Month and Two Weeks into Medical School

It was taking all Debbie had not to dissolve into shivers whenever she thought too hard; about half-way through that day’s lecture the realisation had hit her like a ton of bricks that had been hiding just out of sight, that she couldn’t do it anymore. She really couldn’t do it.

Debbie could not become a doctor. Even if she passed the tests, and survived the practical four years, she couldn’t become a doctor. She didn’t want to anymore. She had no idea why she had been telling herself that she could, because the idea made her want to dig into her abdomen and then collapse into the hole.

Zach had gone back to his own home tonight, and although Debbie would have liked to spill her heart to him, she didn’t want him to think badly of her, or to be disappointed by her lack of resolve; that wasn’t the person that he had devoted himself to, and he might not like it.

So Debbie took herself to bed early, said goodnight to Nora, and then snuck back into the sitting room so that she could use the phone undisturbed. She couldn’t believe that she had fallen so low, but Debbie had forgone having more than two or three drinks tonight so that she wouldn’t be _too_ calm.

“Archie!” Debbie hissed into the phone the moment that the dial tone cut off, and the sound of grouching filtered down the line; the last thing she had ever wanted to do was to admit her failures, but if there was one person in the world likely to give her an easy ride, it was her brother.

“ _What do you want_?” Archie demanded gruffly, then he cleared his throat and tried again, before Debbie could respond further than to roll her eyes and sigh, “ _Debbie, now is the time for sleep, not phone calls_.”

“If you can honestly say that you were actually sleeping, then you’re free to hang up.” Debbie retorted bitterly; she knew what he got up to, always having fun in his chosen career while she was far away from home, fretting and unsure of anything.

“ _What do you want_?” Archie repeated after only a moment’s thought, his voice growing more weary; she hadn’t noticed any background noise before, but Debbie definitely noticed the absence of it, as if he had suddenly moved to a quiet room.

“Do you remember what you were telling me?” Debbie asked quietly, tentatively, minutely afraid that he would shove her failure in her face; she _could_ do it, technically, but her brain wouldn’t comply, she knew that it wouldn’t, “Before I left home?”

“ _That you were making a stupid decision and should do something else_?” Archie inquired dryly, smugly, Debbie thought, “ _Yes, I remember that.”_

“Yes, well…” Debbie muttered, inhaling sharply; she had to swallow her pride, as much as it pained her, if she wanted an escape that her thirty schemes couldn’t quite locate, “It’s come to my attention that you might have been right.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Archie exclaimed; he didn’t sound surprised at all, not even a little bit, “ _So you don’t want to be a doctor anymore?_ ”

“No, I don’t. I hate it!” Debbie hissed, her feelings on the matter breaking down and out like a damn breaking, only for the rushing torrents to be replaced by more stagnant and icy waters, “How do I get out of it?”

“ _Have you talked to Dad_?” Archie asked, though he must of known that she hadn’t, and wouldn’t.

“I’ll tell him when I’ve done something!” Debbie retorted sharply, glancing over her shoulder when she heard Nora knock something over in her room; letting Dad know that she had messed up before she had found a solution would be worse than letting Zach know.

“ _Debbie_ …” Archie sighed, and then she could hear him groaning on the other end of the line, “ _The best thing you can do is to find something that interests you, and then drop out to study that instead_.”

“What should I do instead?” Debbie asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper; their talk before she had started medical school flittered around the back of her mind, but two months hadn’t made such a dreamy ideal any less ridiculous.

“ _I don’t know, do I_?” Archie scoffed; he must have been drinking too, Debbie mused, he was normally a little more philosophical than that, “ _Now, I’m going back to what I was doing before, and you’re going to go to sleep.”_

“Fine.” Debbie snapped, and she didn’t bother to listen to anything else the he started to say, “You’ve been _really_ helpful.”

With that she slammed the phone down, and slumped back into the sofa, wrapping her arms tightly over her chest; there had to be a way to move on, without ruining herself and ending up with nothing. Perhaps being a doctor just wasn’t right for Debbie Richardson; she just needed to find her niche, something that she could not only excel in, but enjoy as well.

It shouldn’t be too hard.

oOoOoOo

Two months into Medical School

In the end, it was Granny that helped Debbie decide on the best course of action; it wasn’t a secure choice, but it did spark her interest in such a way that not only was she confident that she would succeed, but she also had the benefit of excitement to buoy her resolve and steel her nerves.

It had been an act of desperation when she had phoned Granny, but Debbie was glad that she had. Granny had done her usual, and rambled about ‘doing something that you love’, and then talked for hours about how when Debbie had been a child, she had loved learning about Granddad’s RAF career, and playing with his model planes, listening to him explain the aircraft.

Debbie _did_ love aircraft; planes were beautiful. But that didn’t help her, not at all. That was as useful as knowing that she loved Star Trek. Granny had continued to ramble though, and Debbie had been content to listen to her voice and pretend that everything was alright.

It was only when Granny had started talking about when she had been a child, and how planes back then had posed the prospect of adventure, and travel to far-way places, meeting new people and having adventures; or at least, that had been how she had seen it.

That was when Debbie’s mind had begun to whir, and the sinking weight of desperation began to lighten, bit by bit. She had no intention of ever joining the air force; no, she was far too conservative, and frankly, cowardly, to consider anything that might but her in the way of danger or physical exertion.

But flying to far-away places…meeting people…she was good at that, and she already knew people all over the world thanks to her parents’ choice of school…if she played her cards right, did what she was good at, charmed her way through, came up with wonderful schemes, that could be fun.

Impressive too…just like doctors, pilots were male in the minds of the masses. Debbie could do it; she had passed her maths and physics exams well enough, and she could learn physical skills as if they were no effort at all.

Debbie had been smiling before she had even put the phone down; she could be a pilot, and that would be _fun_. If people thought that she was impressive now, there would be no doubt that she would get the respect as a mysterious jet-setter if she had the incredible job to go with it. Yes, it would be difficult, getting through such a male-dominated profession, but she _knew_ that she could do it, and when she did, people would have no choice but to respect her achievement.

Flight-school was remarkably easy to get into; Debbie called them, showed her exam results, attended an interview, all without a word to anyone else, and all in the space of a week. They were impressed, and it was the time of course that many new students were dropping out. If she really wanted the place, then they’d take her.

It was only when she was accepting the offer, once everything was set, that Debbie allowed herself to pause, and to consider what she was actually doing. It was the right decision; her excitement was like it had never been before, tingling and hot in her chest, and she could already envision herself in the pilot’s seat, albeit with a blurry flight-deck as yet unlearned.

The flight-school wasn’t far away, but she would have to move a short distance, as the medical school was the one that she and Nora were renting the flat from; it would be a wrench saying goodbye, but after two months, Nora was the only close friend she had, and they would get over each other in another month or two, even if they did keep in contact.

Zach was another matter entirely; they had moved so fast that they spent most days in each other’s company, and had swapped ‘I love yous’ hastily. Yet, Debbie couldn’t help but feel as if it were a real, and devoted relationship; maybe she was just a soppy romantic, but it felt good, and he had never said a word to discourage her.

But she would have to say goodbye. It just wasn’t practical to keep things up between them once she started at a different school.

They had a free period of time today, so Debbie had suggested that they go back to her flat instead of working in the library; for a building that was supposed to be quiet, it was always peculiarly noisy in there, and it wasn’t the right place to discuss a matter that she hadn’t even mentioned before.

“Zach!” Debbie finally stirred up the courage to talk to him without a trace of trepidation just as he was packing away his notes and rising to his feet; she pressed her palms together, and schooled her expression, “I need to talk to you; sooner rather than later.”

“What about?” Zach asked as he placed his papers down and met her gaze, smirking as if he were expecting good news; he looked so nice, tanned slightly from where he had been lying in the sun to help Nora with her learning about sunburn, his hair rumpled where he had been running his hands through it.

“About us…” Debbie continued, maintaining her calm façade; she was nervous, so nervous, but she could pretend that she wasn’t, while transmitting how much this was upsetting her through her prickling eyes, “and the on-going existence of…us.”

“You…” Zach’s expression fell slowly but surely, and his eyes filled with realisation, the lines on his face smoothing out; his shoulders drooped, but he didn’t seem angry, just sad in a round about way, “you’ve found someone better, haven’t you? I knew you were out of my league.”

“No, that’s not what’s going on!” Debbie snapped before she could control herself, curling her arms around her chest; she knew that he admired her, in much the same way that she had admired him the first time that they had met, but she had never given him any reason to think that he wasn’t good enough. She was sure that she hadn’t…how could he even think that after seeing how much fun they had together.

“Then what is it?” Zach asked solemnly, his eyes meeting hers with a dewy dejection in them; he didn’t suspect her at all, she thought as she swallowed the lump in her throat, and that was awful.

“I’m dropping out of medical school.” Debbie replied honestly, exhaling slowly when Zach’s eyebrows darted to his hairline; this was good, or it would be, if the news she was delivering wasn’t so sour, “I can’t do it anymore, Zach, it’s just not my thing.”

“Oh…” Zach’s frown softened somewhat, even as his brow furrowed in confusion; he was probably trying to work out how _she_ could even not be able to do something, “so something else has caught your interest?”

Of course, he couldn’t process her failure; it had to be a passing of her fancy from one subject to the other. Something about that was comforting, as Debbie didn’t have to face his disillusionment when she eventually left; at least she was flawless at something.

“Yes.” Debbie replied, extremely aware of the small yet expansive space between them, wishing fleetingly that she could just let Zach hug her, and then forget about her problems; that wouldn’t happen, as even the thrill of her new path was more real than the vague imagining of his power over her emotions, “I’m going to go to flight school, and become a pilot.”

“A pilot?” Zach repeated, his face scrunching as he looked at her, “Not a flight attendant?”

“No, a pilot.” Debbie said curtly, pressing her lips into a thin line and pulling her arms together firmly; her trepidation vanished in a moment, replaced by righteous indignation, “Don’t you think I could?”

“Of course I think you could; you could do anything.” Zach retracted his statement and raised his hands in surrender, a faint smile appearing on his lips; to Debbie’s surprise, he seemed to fill with a sort of excitement, as he ran his eyes over her, “Wow…a pilot! You could be some mysterious jet setter, travelling the world and seeing the sights.”

“Yes, quite.” Debbie replied, trying not to let herself smile in return; this was why she liked him; his endless faith in her, when added to his brutally honest charm, was incredibly comforting, “So you see why _us_ might be a problem?”

“No, I don’t.” Zach shook his head, brow furrowing as he slipped his hands in his pockets; Debbie had to fight not to roll her eyes, at what she hoped was forced optimism and not simply slowness.

“Because I’ll be going to a different school, and I’ll be doing difficult training that will take up hours of my time.” Debbie elaborated, unwinding her arms enough that she could make explanatory motions with her hands, “We’re barely going to see each other.”

“All the more reason for us to see each other at home.” Zach concluded for her; the slight hardness in his eyes made her chest do something odd as it hit her again how much he cared about her. It was strange, having not felt so…cared for in a while.

“We don’t _have_ a home, Zach.” Debbie reminded him, feeling more stable and certain of herself each second; it was as if the more truth that hit the air, the more her confidence solidified, “I live with Nora, and you just stay here a lot.”

“I know…” Zach murmured, and he bit down on his lip as his eyes narrowed on the corner of the room, and he looked for all the world as if he were in thought even deeper than that needed to study medicine.

Then before Debbie knew what was happening, his hands were on her arms, and he was brushing her down and issuing murmured instructions as to how she was standing; she tried to say something, but then he was gone from sight, and she barely knew where to look before he was kneeling on the ground before her, grasping her hand in his.

“What are you doing?” Debbie demanded, frozen and unable to force herself to move away; the voice in the back of her head had a horrible, sinking suspicion, but the more fluffy part of her mind was too busy staring wide-eyed and wondering what the hell he was doing.

“Debbie, I know this is sudden, and I haven’t prepared at all, but…will you marry me?” Zach’s requested came out in a tumbling blur, as if the words were eager to escape his mouth and scramble over her; he looked more excited than she had ever seen him, but that didn’t stop her mind and lungs from grinding to a halt.

“Whoa, whoa! You do realise what marriage _is_ , right?” Debbie yanked her hand from his and raised both of her palms between them, taking half a step back as he rose to his feet again, perplexed, “You can’t just do it, it’s a lifetime commitment, as in, ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you and do important things with you’, with homes and jobs and children.”

On the one hand, Debbie was flattered, really she was…but they were still teenagers for Christ’s sake! Her chest may have been fluttering wildly, but they weren’t – they couldn’t just get married…could they? That wasn’t- they – people that were married were…not like _they_ were. She loved him, and had no doubt that he loved her…but…

“Yes, I know what marriage is.” Zach snorted, his eyebrows knitting as he looked at her as if she was the one talking madness.

“But do you actually _want_ to marry me, or are you just asking because you don’t want me to go?” Debbie demanded, staring at him with unabashed disbelief; he was still smiling, so he couldn’t really understand what he was suggesting…even though her brain was slowly but surely whispering reasons why she should just stop arguing.

“Of course I don’t want you to go.” Zach reasoned, reaching forwards to try and take her hands again; she didn’t let him, but that didn’t alter his determination, “That’s what commitment _is_ ; not wanting someone to go, _ever_.”

“Oh…” Debbie made a faint noise, but otherwise just stared at him, her expression softening as her stunned jittered subsided; maybe it was just the vodka that she had thrown back for confidence, but he had a point, “I…”

“I know I haven’t got a ring or anything, but…” Zach stepped away from her again and arranged himself like he might for a rugby line-up, “I have got something that I was preparing for a date or, something romantic.”

“How do you mean?” Debbie asked warily, starting at him; he had already proposed, what more could he do?

He had proposed to her…at no point had Debbie ever thought that she would be getting proposed to at eighteen years old; she had only known him for two months, she had only been living alone for two months…she was a confident and independent young woman, and if she wanted to marry, then she could.

“I learnt some poetry for you.” Zach announced, a proud little smile on his face as he held his arms at his sides; if she looked closely enough though, Debbie could see his hands trembling just a tad.

“You hate poetry.” Debbie remarked stiltedly, swallowing hard to alleviate the worrying churching in her stomach as her arms returned to provide cold comfort to her middle; he hated a lot of things she liked, just as she hated a lot of things he liked. They worked around it.

“I do, but you don’t.” Zach acknowledged, and he ducked his head sheepishly; then he lifted his head and inhaled sharply, and before Debbie could stop him, he was reciting Shakespeare, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments-”

“Stop, that’s enough,” Debbie said quickly, stumbling forwards as if to stop him, before stopping herself, her head flushing into dizziness as her chest filled with warmth at the gesture, “I don’t need the whole sonnet. Zach…”

It was a lovely gesture, wonderful really considering how much Zach really _hated_ poetry; it was that sort of thing that made him worth the time, his good looks aside. It was this sort of thing that made her comfortable curling up with him of a night, or walking hand in hand with him in town; he was a sweet man at heart.

“You can say no.” Zach interjected before she could open her mouth; he was fighting a frown, but its echo was visible in the set of his…everything else, “I know two months isn’t long, but…I love you.”

“Two months isn’t long at all.” Debbie agreed, smiling wanly at him; she didn’t want to say goodbye to him, and by the sound of it, neither did he; that didn’t mean he was talking sense though, “You could find someone better in less time than that.”

It would be awful if that happened; Debbie didn’t want to be alone.

“I’m never going to find a better catch than you.” Zach remarked, a sad little smile on his face as he shrugged and took a step towards her; the flustering in her chest, and the blush that was now burning on her cheeks, didn’t fade as she wanted it to, “You’re perfect.”

Something about that statement caught in Debbie’s head, didn’t quite sit right with what she _wanted_ …but it was quickly muffled by the romantic in her; no one thought that she was perfect. They thought that she was skilled and talented, and that she was incredible…no one thought that she was good enough (or not good enough in some cases) to be perfect.

There was no doubt Debbie’s mind that she loved Zach but…it didn’t feel like love in stories, or on television seemed to feel; there was no aching when he wasn’t around, or a part of her brain devoted to him, as they batted around banter and completed each other’s sentences. But that was fictional...Zach made her happy when they were actually in the same room as each other.

She didn’t want to be alone; having someone there, with her, while her life changed its course…someone who thought that she was perfect…that would be good.

“I…” Debbie trailed off, and then stopped, and took a deep breath, steadying herself on her feet and dropping her hands to her sides; she was in control, “If I say yes?”

“Then I’ll be able to support you through flight school.” Zach replied eagerly, bridging the gap between them to place his hands gently on her upper arms; if nothing else, it was his complete faith in her decision that won her over, “It’ll be great, the two of us setting up a future together.”

“Alright.” Debbie sighed, plastering on a smile only moments before a genuine one leaked onto her lips, and she let herself be drawn a little closer to him; this was a good thing. It couldn’t be a bad decision.

“Alright?” Zach leaned back just enough that he could analyse her face, a hopeful flush on his own.

“Alright I’ll marry you.” Debbie repeated, letting her eyes fall closed as Zach’s face split into a grin, and he pulled her into a hug; reasserting her cool, she slipped her arms around him and spoke calmly and clearly, “Sorry, you caught me off guard.”

Everything would be fine…


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

It wasn’t a big wedding, they couldn’t afford that, even with Dad offering to cover a fraction of the expenses; Zach still had medical school, and Debbie was starting flight-school, so there was barely time enough on a free weekend to dress up and gather a few people at the registrar’s office, let alone afford a honeymoon.

The most apt word that Debbie could decide upon was nerve-wracking; with the peripherally sour mood from her family (though Zach’s parents were thrilled at how ‘lovely’ his girlfriend was), and the magnitude of the event, she made it to her wedding day, lungs filled with air that moved like cotton wool, and hands unable to stop from winding restlessly around each other.

Nevertheless, she and Zach had moved into a new flat, which was further from the medical school, but near enough that Debbie could get on the train at a reasonable time and arrive before her lessons started, and now they were in separate rooms, preparing to tie the knot, and make their relationship official. Debbie didn’t have bridesmaids, although Nora had arrived as a guest, so all she had to keep her company in her rented dressing room was Archie, who was even less enjoyable to be around than he normally was.

The moment that he had laid eyes on his sister, Archie had announced that she looked beautiful, but that he could make it better; so Debbie stood in the middle of the room, listening to Archie grumble as he pricked and pulled at her small white dress, pinning this fold here, and that skirt there, doing quite a good job to her chagrin.

“I don’t agree with this, Debbie.” Archie informed her, as he did something clever to the threads of her skirt so that it rested more elegantly around the base of her knees instead of her ankles; the pouting frown that adorned his lips remained resolute, “I really don’t.”

“You don’t have to agree with it, you just have to keep your mouth shut during the ceremony.” Debbie replied curtly, far beyond the point of caring what he had to say; she was an adult, and she wanted to go ahead with the wedding, and it didn’t matter what he said, she wasn’t going to swayed from that point. It would be good for her to have someone that she knew would be at home when she needed to talk, or just wanted some company; the rest they could work out later.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” Archie assured her, grimacing as he rose from his knees to fiddle with the shoulder straps; there wasn’t a lot that he could do, but Debbie was sure that he was only prevaricating so that he could keep her there longer, “Although, I haven’t had a chance to properly _talk_ to the lad.”

“Oh, what’s wrong now?”  Debbie sighed, fighting the temptation to run her hand through her hair; it would take too long to put back to rights for a fit of pique to be worth it, “What has Zach done in the short time you’ve known him to deserve a talking to?”

“Nothing.” Archie retorted, meeting her gaze and pursing his lips as if he were holding back a derisory scoff, “I’m just highly aware that he is an eighteen year old medical student that wants to get married.”

“Whatever; you be that way.” Debbie remarked dryly, averting her eyes so that she could stare pointedly at the corner of the ceiling while he fiddled and adjusted her dress; he couldn’t object that much, as he or he wouldn’t have been so insistent that he be consulted about her choice of attire, “Dad’s okay with this.”

“Dad’s _not_ happy, but you’re an adult, so he can’t do anything to stop it.” Archie countered, his throat visibly bobbing as he forced himself to hold his tongue, “Besides, he’d rather you had _someone_ to look after you now that you’ve tossed medical school…as you’re set against letting us help you.”

“You’d look after me would you?” Debbie snorted, and glared accusingly at him; tease her, perhaps, but Archie wasn’t the sort of man to cling to family ties and affectionate responsibility, and he never had been, “After all the times you’ve demonstrated your desire to ‘look after me’?”

“I shouldn’t have to look after my little sister, it’s not my job.” Archie replied matter-of-factly, just as she had known that he would; then, to her bewilderment, he sighed, and dropped his gaze to work more furiously at ruffling the high sleeve of her dress, “But, sadly, I would, if you asked, because for some reason I actually care about what happens to you.”

“Since when?” Debbie demanded, her brow furrowing with disbelief as she watched his hands plucking at the material; actually seeing him admit to anything would be more embarrassing for both of them than simply hearing it.

“Do you remember when you were ten, and Mum and Dad forgot to pick me up from the bus station because you fell and fractured your elbow?” Archie inquired in lieu of an explanation; he waited for Debbie to nod slowly and narrow her eyes at him before he continued, “Well, all they told me was that you were in hospital, so while I was thinking ‘what’s the idiot done now’, my stomach suddenly felt all sick.”

“And you reckon that that’s what caring feels like?” Debbie replied, grimacing at the very idea of it, as well as the implication that Archie had actually worried about her for a fraction of a second; she was almost glad that she didn’t have any younger siblings to feel sick over, “That’s horrible.”

“You mean you don’t feel that kind of worry when Zach gets a paper cut or isn’t home on time?” Archie inquired, pausing in his work, hands still on her dress, so that he could lift his head and meet her gaze; the lack of any mirth in his eyes made something uncomfortable clench in Debbie’s chest.

“I guess…of course I worry.” Debbie assured him, lifting her arms to curl them around her chest, only to Archie bat them away; instead, her palms found purchase clinging to the skirt of her dress, “I love him.”

“Sure…” Archie grumbled, but he said no more on the matter; that wasn’t right, not at all, not from someone who always had something to say nowadays.

“What about the rest of it?” Debbie demanded curtly, fighting not to tap her feet impatiently; she was beginning to feel restless, as if everything would be fine once she got to leave this room and sign the relevant documents, before anyone else could stick their nose in.

“What rest of it?” Archie responded apathetically, even sounding bored of their discussion, as he clucked his tongue at the stitching; there couldn’t have been anything left to adjust, but he continued inspecting every inch of material just in case, “I’m letting the matter lie, because I can’t think of how to stop you from doing this frankly idiotic thing.”

“Yes, I know that; thank you for not ruining my wedding.” Debbie drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes and pouting, but making no effort to brush him away; it wouldn’t hurt to stay and talk a little longer, even if she was practically jittering, “I meant the _rest_ of it…there’s always more.”

“You mean the flight school?” Archie asked, his eyebrows rising, and his voice actually brightening slightly as he stood back and surveyed his work, “This may shock you Debbie, but I actually wish you well with that.”

“Really?” Debbie replied, momentarily stunned into stillness; this promised to be a monumental moment that had never occurred before, and probably never would again, “You think that I can do it?”

“Of course you can _do_ it; you could do anything if you _really_ wanted to.” Archie noted, his expression pinching as he placed his hands on his hips and the reached forwards to tug at a fold of her dress, then stepped back again; perhaps not meeting her eye made it easier for him to say such nice things, “I think it’ll be a good fit for you, being a pilot; something about it just seems right.”

“Yes, it does doesn’t it?” Debbie remarked, unable to keep the warm smirk from leeching onto her lips, as her chest filled with a pleasant sort of fluttering as she thought about it; she wound her fingers together at her front, and allowed herself to vocalise what she hadn’t yet, eve to Zach, “I’m actually quite excited. You know, I think that lack of excitement should have been fair warning that medicine isn’t my area.”

“Perhaps.” Archie agreed, nodding as if he were reluctant to do so, an almost truncated dip of his chin, “Do you know exactly what needs to be done?”

“I need to do the PPL first, which involves a medical certification, and then _nine_ theoretical exams,” Debbie replied quickly, allowing herself to smile properly as she narrowed her eyes in thought; she had been through all of the requirements of her course, and something about it made her confidence peak into almost elated heights, despite how vigorous the workload would be, “and then I have to complete forty five hours of flight training with an instructor before I can take the test.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Archie remarked fairly, striding around her to pluck his abandoned suit jacket from the chair that he had thrown it over upon entering the room; Debbie span on her heel to follow his path, “You pick up new skills like the wind; I have no doubt that you’ll ace the written and the practical exams.”

“Exactly.” Debbie assured him, smirking with self-confidence; it wasn’t even a question whether she could do it, “And if I’m a quick learner, then I could even get that over and done with in a matter of months, six at the most.”

“And when you’ve done that?” Archie prompted, as he leant back against the chair that he had retrieved his jacket from and slipped his hands into his pockets; he was a nosy bugger, but Debbie was too proud of herself to care much in that moment.

“It’s the CPL, which is two hundred hours flight training, and ten hours training with the instruments.” Debbie explained excitedly, wild hand movements and all, “I’ve been talking to the staff at the school, and I reckon that if I can hire one of the tutors for extra studying, I can fit at least five hours a day of flying in once I’ve learned the basics, which would mean I’ll have met the requirements within two months.”

“But let’s call it six…better not to get ahead of ourselves.” Archie interjected, scrunching his nose in the superior manner than he had perfected, “So after that you can start looking at jobs at proper airlines?”

“Precisely.” Debbie remarked, imagining that she could almost taste her success already, just a few exams down the road; she had time, but she was going to do it quickly, all the better for proving to Dad that she was able to look after herself, and all the better for proving to everyone that she deserved the respect that she would be demanding.

“So you’re looking forward to this?” Archie inquired, his face open and honest, his eyes wide as if he really cared about what she did with her life; this unusual bout of concern, that had lasted for about a year now, was beginning to wear on her, “You really want to be a pilot?”

“I don’t really want to do much of anything…” Debbie admitted reluctantly, with a faint shrug of her shoulders; she listened to the rustle of her dress instead of focusing on the dreary gap in amongst the heated thrill in her chest, “I want to have fun, and just the _idea_ of getting to fly planes to faraway places is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Think of all the things I could do!”

“Alright, I get it.” Archie conceded, raising his palms into the air in a facsimile of surrender; then his expression shifted, and Debbie knew that she wouldn’t like what he had to say next, “You do understand thought that it might not be as fun as you think it is…it’s a very male dominated industry.”

“Which I am going to take by storm.” Debbie replied shortly, swallowing hard against the lump of trepidation that appeared unbidden in her throat; this wasn’t something she wanted to think about.

“I believe you.” Archie assented, but he still looking uncomfortable, his eyes dragging along the floor instead of meeting hers, “The fact is though Debbie, that no matter how incredibly skilled, and how talented, and how confident a woman is…there’s always that one man that will try to talk you into bed and ignore the fact that you actually have a little thing called integrity.”

“I know…” Debbie assured him, unconsciously wrapping her arms around her middle; it wasn’t exactly something that she had missed, when for every young man that was drawn in by her allure and tried to buy her drinks, there was another one that ignored her declarations of engagement and tried to smarm up to her or touch her anyway, “That won’t stop me though.”

“Of course.” Archie replied, nodding stiltedly, but ploughing onwards nonetheless, “I just need to know that you’ll be able to deal with that.”

“You want me to promise that I won’t be harassed or jump into bed with another pilot?” Debbie inquired, pursing her lips and tilting her chin just a tad more into the air; now _she_ was the one with the moral high-ground, looking across at him judgementally.

“No, you can sleep with whoever you like…although after today, I’d think twice.” Archie remarked, quirking his eyebrows when she rolled her eyes at him; he was insufferable, “What I want you to promise, is that you are sure you want to deal with that emotional strain.”

“Archie, I promise, if a man tries to patronise me, or touch me, or demean my position because I’m a girl, I will personally put them back in their place…and _remove_ their hands if necessary.” Debbie answered his implied request with a schooled expression and a measured tone, meaning every word of it; she had thought about all of that, and it was part of the reason that she was so determined to rush through the course, just to prove that she _could_.

“Okay…” Archie didn’t sound convinced, but he nodded and pushed away from the chair regardless, giving her the once over and twisting his lips before announcing that, “I think you’re done.”

“Fantastic. Let’s…” Debbie replied, clapping her hands together; she was about to declare that they go through and get her married, but something about the way that Archie was looking at her made her pause, as a cold weight dropped into her stomach, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason…” Archie assured her, shaking his head and plastering on a smile that was obviously forced; that only made the sinking in Debbie’s stomach grow all the more pronounced, “It’s just that you don’t look nearly as excited about your wedding as you did the idea of becoming a pilot.”

oOoOoOo

For all that Dad and Archie had been lecturing her, Debbie didn’t think that married life was all that difficult; it wasn’t much like she had expected it to be either, not after watching the structured rigidity of her parents’ marriage, and the apathetic but business-like nature of fictional married couples. In fact, being married to Zach was easy, and it meant that after a long day working herself to the bone to try and be the best in her class, there was someone to sit and have dinner with, and to curl up with at night.

After months of marriage, they had slipped into a comfortable pattern; they didn’t see each other during the day due to differing timetables, and when they came home, it was easy to go about their own projects, and then come back together at the end of the day, and at weekends, when there were no distractions.

When the time came for Debbie to be taking her PPL exams however, their time together would slim, and they had to arrange extra special activities for the two of them to spend time together. Not that she minded; it was difficult stuff, but she was excelling in the technical learning, which just gave her an even greater itch to finish and don a smart uniform, and fly here there and everywhere.

“You know, I don’t understand a word of that.” Zach remarked one evening, a confused pinch to his features as he examined the tea table, across which Debbie had spread her notes in order that she could lean over them and commit every word to memory, “There’s a lot of technical jargon…I bet you know what it all means though.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Debbie replied distractedly, nevertheless preening in the hopeful edge to his tone, as if he were congratulating her for something that he didn’t quite understand; for once, she could relish the fact that she really _deserved_ that praise, as she really did understand and _love_ what she was learning.

“Is it important?” Zach inquired, and she recognised that deflective yet enticing tone of voice; he was fishing, as he rocked on his heels, for her attention, even though it was masked in a show of interest.

“I need to be able to memorise it for the exam next week.” Debbie answered, glancing up from the table that she had been drawing with weights and calculations painstakingly etched in; any show of interest was flattering, as Zach was as willing to sit and listen to her talk about this as she was willing to listen to him talk about his medical course, “It’s nothing that I don’t already know, but Dad reckons that if I look the information over in a different arrangement than I learnt it, then I less chance of going blank when I’m taking the test.”

“Oh…” Zach exclaimed faintly, his brow furrowing as he ran his eyes over her writing; Debbie hoped that the look on his face as he pulled out a chair beside her and lowered himself into it was confusion, and not disappointment, “so it’s not homework, it’s just extra studying.”

“Exactly. I don’t need it, but I’d rather be safe than uncertain at this stage.” Debbie explained, gesturing to the rest of her papers; she supposed that it was the evening, and that was their time, but needs must, and they were _both_ engaged in difficult courses, “Don’t you have things you should be doing?”

“I made sure to finish the immediate stuff yesterday so that I’d have time to romance you tonight.” Zach remarked, not quite as brightly as he would have normally; he must have been tired from rushing all of his work, “I thought that we could go out, do drinks, then come back and-”

“Zach, I’m sorry, but I can’t; not this week.” Debbie apologised, genuinely  regretting that she was letting him down; she placed a comforting hand on his wrist, but he didn’t turn his hand to embrace hers, “When I’m doing this kind of revision, I need to be clear headed, and I need to cover an area a night or I’ll miss a part of my schedule.”

That was entirely true; she couldn’t risk it. Ever since she had started flight school, Debbie had been drinking less, very deliberately; she had never been the sort of person that binged, or spent the next day hung over, but she just couldn’t risk having her judgement impaired. The time that she spent flying was some of the most thrilling she had spent in her life, and Debbie couldn’t allow herself to be even slightly drunk when she did so; she’d still knock a few back at weekends, and in the evenings, but she always, _always_ stopped when she was still lucid enough to know that she had had enough.

“You’ve made a schedule?” Zach repeated, completely missing the point of what she had said, distracted by insignificant factors, as he was wont to do, “That’s new…you’ve never done that before.”

“Well, as you know, I normally just go with the flow.” Debbie remarked, proudly nodding towards her work, which she had spent hours getting perfect, so that she wouldn’t have to think too hard during the actual exam, “But, during exam times, I scribble up a quick schedule, so that I can’t lag. It’s taped to the inside of the wardrobe door.”

“Oh, okay…that’s alright I suppose.” Zach replied slowly, nodding as the cogs turned behind his eyes; Debbie watched tentatively as his smile reasserted itself, and he turned his hand over in hers, giving it a little squeeze before rising to his feet, “I can’t wait to see you as a proper pilot, ready for adventure.”

“Hmmm...” Debbie hummed in agreement, a pleasant warmth settling once more in her chest at his steady anticipation; he may not understand, but he was there for her, and that was all that mattered, “I’m nearly finished you know. There’s no reason why we couldn’t stay in, and I could make it up to you.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” Zach declared, and with that he stepped forwards and placed a kiss atop Debbie’s head, before wandering from the room and plucking a medical journal from the floor where he had left it.

oOoOoOo

“Zach!” Debbie declared, as she swanned into their sitting area, arm outstretched, and a wide smile on her face; all things considered, it didn’t matter what anyone said behind her back, she was having a good day, “Guess who is the most talented flyer that her instructor has seen in over two decades…be warned, he has helped a lot of people practice for their CPLs.”

“I really hope it’s you.” Zach teased, as he looked up from the book that his nose had previously been buried in, sitting cross-legged on the sofa; he looked frazzled, but he was smiling, as if he were truly proud of her without ever needing to hear exactly what she had done right.

“Then you’re in luck.” Debbie beamed, dropping her bag onto the floor and striding across the room to drop onto the sofa beside him; he pushed his books out of the way, and turned so that she could tuck her feet in against his knees.

“Wow…well done.” Zach praised her; his smile lingered on his lips, but he raised his eyebrows as if amused by her reaction, “You seem a bit excited about that; I thought that you thought you were going to breeze through it.”

“Oh, I am more than breezing, I am positively gusting.” Debbie drawled, relishing the surge of heat that tingled from her lungs through her pores; then she realised that Zach was still watching her with that bemused expression, and felt a lump of defensiveness catch in her throat, despite her good mood, “There’s no harm in taking a little pride in oneself every now and again.”

“No, of course not.” Zach assured her, any trace of doubt gone so quickly that Debbie thought she must have been imagining it, a projection of her own ever fading nerves; he leaned forwards to peck at her lips, and then sat back again, gazing indulgently at her, “You’re amazing, I never doubted you for a minute.”

“Thank you.” Debbie replied coyly; remembering that the world ticked on regardless of her success, she sighed, and nodded towards the books that were threatening to topple over the precarious edge of the sofa, “Do you have a lot to be getting on with?”

“Yeah, a bit.” Zach grimaced, and shrugged his shoulders; it wasn’t hard to tell that he was going to try and put it off, now that he had a reason, “That’s alright though, we can-”

“No, we can’t.” Debbie interrupted, slipping her legs from the sofa lest he get any different ideas; she was doing well, but Zach needed to get his head down if he was serious about passing his upcoming tests, “If you need to study, then you need to study; I’m not dragging you out to the pub if it’ll mean you don’t hear half of your lectures tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”  Zach replied, though Debbie thought that the light in his eyes dimmed just a tad, as if he would rather be out at the pub with her than knuckling down and actually learning for a career that he had dreamed of since he was a boy; he smiled though, and patted her knee, as he told her that, “You are amazing.”

oOoOoOo

First day on the job…this was it…she had actually done it! It wasn’t a big airline, but it was popular, and had listened to her old instructor’s recommendations, if the speed with which they snapped Debbie up was any indication.

Debbie turned in front of the mirror, tugging and flattening her new uniform, a charming shade of dark blue that complimented her new hair-cut and darker colour perfectly; for the first time in her life, despite what she had been telling people, Debbie looked at herself, and saw an adult, a proper woman in professional garb…and she couldn’t decide whether to beam or to cry at how perfect that was.

That would show Dad and Archie, and if Mum were still around she would have to admit that her daughter had done rather well, even against dropping medical school; no one could deny the fact that upon finishing flight school, the staff were picking her ahead of the boys, even when just a year beforehand they had been singling out the lesser talented students than her based on her gender alone.

Nobody did that anymore. She wasn’t a fool; Debbie knew that she would have to remain cool and professional in order to get respect, but it wouldn’t take long for her exemplary skills to outshine everyone else’s, to the point that only a fool would consider her lesser.

“Is this it?” Zach asked as he appeared in the doorway, a small figure in the mirror; he was grinning, and grew larger as he approached, his hands extended as if he were afraid to touch her out of reverence, but desperately wanted to.

“What do you mean is this it?” Debbie snorted, adjusting her hat atop her head, and smirking into the mirror; it was good to see him as excited about something as she was for once, “I got the job! So long as I do well here for a few months, I could get them to give me a reference for Air England – that’s as high as it’s possible for any pilot as young as me to go!”

“Wow, that’s great.” Zach acknowledged, coming close enough that she could turn in his arms, and step back for him to take a better look at her in all her glory, “I meant the uniform, as in _wow_ , is this it, because I’ve been waiting for this moment. You look gorgeous!”

“And the epitome of impressive professionalism?” Debbie asked, hoping that she didn’t sound as curt as she felt, as her fingers traced along the opposite epaulet, and found purchase; he meant well, but she didn’t really care about how she _looked_. Gorgeous was good, but Debbie was willing to go to work in a plastic bag if it got her respect regardless of her appearance.

“Very impressive.” Zach assured her, his eyes still wandering up and down her figure, as the smile warmed his face until he might have been glowing; he met her eyes and winked, “I can picture it now – you, ruling the skies.”

“I plan to.” Debbie promised, smirking as she turned back to the mirror, and took a deep breath; she was a good pilot, that much she was sure of. Day one couldn’t be that difficult, especially as her Captain probably wouldn’t let her do much flying…but after that, she was going to soar.

oOoOoOo

Why anyone had thought that Narsarsuaq Airport in Greenland, with its short runway, at the end of which sat a large lake, was a good location to allocate to a pilot that had only been flying a week was beyond Debbie’s sense of logic; the fact that her Captain, the fifth this week due to the way that the airline rotated its hundreds of staff, had asked her to take the landing in the rain, with a massive crosswind, was almost inconceivable.

They hadn’t crashed…not quite. The plane was _mostly_ on the runway, and it was only the nose that was partially submerged within the lake; she had seen worse landings…on air crash investigation. Nevertheless, Debbie couldn’t help but stare, breath held in her lungs, through the window that was still being lashed with rain, her hands clenched painfully around the controls.

“It’s alright, love.” The voice of her Captain, a man in his early fifties, managed to pierce the fugue state that she had tumbled into; if Debbie hadn’t been trying to get her brain to speed out of sluggishness, she might have smarted at the endearment as she turned to look at the greying, wrinkled face, “I reckon you can let go of the controls now.”

“Yes…well…” Debbie remarked, clearing her throat as she released the controls, stiffly so as not to seem more affected than she was, her racing heart nicely hidden within her chest, where no one could see it pounding, “I dare anyone to say that that wasn’t a landing.”

“Oh, yeah.” The Captain exclaimed brightly, almost chuckling as he watched her take subtle breaths to calm herself, “All things considered, that was very good actually.”

“All things considered?” Debbie repeated curtly, turning to stare the man in the eye; the indignation that sparked in her chest wasn’t easy to temper, but she did it.

Over the past week, she had found that aggressive sexism was a rare occurrence; rare, but it did happen. What wasn’t rare however was _this_ , the flippant putting down of her efforts and her skills because ‘wow, she’s a woman, look at that’; cool and unconcerned though, that was what she had to be. They weren’t being cruel, they just needed educating; so cool and unconcerned, take their praise, and then prove just how good she really was, that was how she had to swallow this new world.

“Yeah. That’s a tricky landing for _anyone,_ with this bloody runway.” The Captain replied, blowing air through his lips as his eyebrows rose in amazement; Debbie pressed her lips into a thin line, reminding herself that he wasn’t being rude, he just didn’t realise that there _was no impediment_ , “I’m actually really impressed that you managed it; I’ll make sure to note it down for you, so that the bosses know that you’re up for the bigger and better flights.”

“Thank you…” Debbie forced herself not to grit her teeth, and smiled wanly; it was only the start, of course people couldn’t tell that she was good _because_ of who she was, and not _in spite_ of, “I really appreciate that.”

Once the post-landing checks were completed, Debbie wandered out into the Cabin to watch the last of the passengers filter through and out, gathering their luggage from the overheads; she must not have noticed that there was still someone in the toilet behind the aisle, as when she was leaning against one of the seats, she was jolted from her silent musings by a sharp clap on her behind.

“Oi!” Debbie snapped after the man that hurried past her, and out through the door; a part of her wanted to chase him down and demand an apology, but the rest of her was content to retract into herself, her arms wrapping around her chest as she scowled at the space left behind. How _dare_ he! She was his pilot, for Christ’s sake!

“I’d just ignore them if I were you.” Debbie turned at the sound of a woman’s voice, only to find herself face with a woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in her stewardess’ uniform, and smirking in what could only be called an unfriendly way as she rested her curled hand on her hip, “I think they’d rather you were back here, with us.”

“An interesting thought, I’m sure.” Debbie drawled, plastering on a sarcastic, and perhaps hopeful, smile; despite her efforts, the way that the stewardess was looking at her made her stomach churn and her chest clench more than the men’s wolf-whistles when she had done the cabin announcement, “Might make flying the plane a bit difficult though.”

“Sure…” the stewardess, replied, sneering at her as she passed by just a little too close for comfort, “Don’t go thinking you’re some sort of grand though, just ‘cos you’re in the front seat.”

Unsure of how to react, as she watched the woman’s back disappear into the Galley, Debbie simply took a deep breath, steeled herself, and took a seat where she could wait for the Captain to appear ready to leave. She couldn’t please everyone…Debbie knew that…right now though it was quite hard to try and maintain a cool and unconcerned façade.

oOoOoOo

“No, Zach, I’m tired.” Debbie grumbled, batting away the arms that came around her, as Zach crawled into bed beside her; she wasn’t in the mood for a hug, or anything that he was probably thinking of, “I just want to go to sleep.”

It had been a month, and she was still uncertain of where she stood with most of her colleagues; due to the nature of the company, Debbie rarely saw the same cabin crew or pilot twice, which only made it harder for her to make a lasting impression. It was exhausting, but she was determined; she _knew_ that she was a good pilot, and if only half of the people that she met appreciated that, then Debbie just had to work harder.

In addition, some of her friends from school had got back in contact with her, having heard from someone that Debbie didn’t care to find out who, that she was a pilot now, and likely to turn up in their countries sooner or later; talking to them, and meeting them for drinks when she happened to be in a bar near them, was as taxing as the job itself. It would have been nicer, if she hadn’t felt as if they wanted something from her that they weren’t yet ready to reveal.

“But you’re away for the next two days.” Zach retorted irritably, nevertheless withdrawing his arms and falling back on the opposite side of the bed; Debbie didn’t like to disappoint him, but it was too late at night to be dealing with him.

“And I was away today.” Debbie replied, keeping her eyes firmly closed, “I’m tired.”

oOoOoOo

The airport was busy, but Debbie was able to navigate it quite well by now; once in the pilot’s lounge, it was simply a case of finding your colleague for the day. Today was going to be a short flight, back and forth before nightfall, but she was still tired; Debbie had agreed to go out with Zach the night before, and the man at security had been a little too forward when she had arrived at work…to say that her nerves were frayed was an understatement.

Which was probably why, upon locating her Captain, Debbie didn’t react quite as patiently as she might have done.

“Whoa there!” the Captain, a balding man in his late thirties exclaimed when he caught sight of her, and his eyes wandered up and down, giving her the once over as a wicked, disgusting smirk curled at his lips, “Are you sure you’re not wearing the wrong uniform sweetheart?”

Normally when Debbie was accosted with such unabashed sexism, she could remained cool and unconcerned, and pretend that nothing had been said, brushing the matter off with a cold smile, only to outdo the culprit in the flight-deck and put them in their place. However, today a flash of anger roared in her chest, and though cool and controlled as ever, she couldn’t help but bite back, putting him in his place.

“Quite sure,” Debbie replied coldly, standing as tall as she could with her heels together, chin up, and glaring at the man with her lips pressed tightly together; it would be little work to cut him down to size with a few carefully chosen words, “but if your eyesight’s _that_ faulty, I’m sure I could find a replacement Captain while the chief pilot books you in for a renewed sight test.”

“Whatever, no worries.” The Captain scoffed, shaking his head and waving a finger at her, as one might a child; he might not have heard her at all for the sake of the patronising edge to his tone, “I’ll have none of that lip on the flight-deck, you hear? A bit of respect would be nice, especially in front of the passengers.”

“Of course.” Debbie drawled darkly, smirking up at him as she folded her arms securely over her chest; today wasn’t the day to be crossing her, not when she was seriously considering just punching the man and flying to Sicily by herself, “I’m sure the passengers would love to see their pilots treating each other with the proper amount of respect. I’ll be sure to follow your lead on that-”

“Listen, _missy_ , you’re lucky to even be on this flight.” The Captain spoke loud and clear, his eyebrows raised as if _she_ were the one overstepping her bounds; as if _she_ hadn’t already impressed most of his senior officers, and been allocated more flights than any of the other new recruits, “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be, because you’re too inexperienced, and too temperamental-”

“And skilled enough that I was put on this flight by your superiors,” Debbie interrupted, not quite raising her voice, but enunciating her words clearly as she glared at him, aware that people were beginning to glance their way; she didn’t care what this ridiculous man thought, Debbie _knew_ that she deserved respect, and today was not the day to be denying it, “and chosen over the heads of men that have been here a lot longer than I have, so I think-”

“I think you should keep your trap shut, do as you’re told on the flight-deck, and just let me handle things.” The Captain sneered, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and swaying on his heels in such a way that it pushed out his chest; that he was a good foot taller than her did cross Debbie’s mind, but anger pushed it away swiftly, “Don’t think for a minute that I’m going to pander to you, just because you think you’re better than the other tarts in the Cabin.”

“Like it or not, I am your colleague, and you will treat me as such.” Debbie retorted sharply, inhaling deeply in order to centre herself; it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had more vicious arguments with Archie before, “Believe me, I have no qualms about-”

“How dare you-” the Captain began to growl, and Debbie thought for a moment that he was about to yell, or lash out given the way that his hands were clenching; he never got the chance, as a shout shattered the tension that had sprouted between them, and Debbie jumped slightly as a pilot clad in the same uniform as them almost skidded to her side.

“Steve!” the intruder gasped, hastily catching his breath as he held one hand out towards the Captain; while Debbie took in the fact that he had mousy hair and appeared to be in his mid-thirties, she also noted that his other arm, although positioned around her back, was very deliberately _not_ touching her, as the man glanced between the two of them, “Steve, take a step back and remember where you are.”

“This slut-” the Captain hissed, addressing the new man alone, but pointed demonstratively at Debbie.

“This _young woman_ must have been very upset by what you said to her.” The new pilot cut him off, speaking smoothly and calmly; Debbie was too busy swallowing the mess of nerves that had sprung in her chest the moment that she wasn’t fighting any longer, to do much more than glare at the Captain, “I wasn’t listening too closely, but don’t you think it would be best to apologise before you have to fly a plane with her?”

“I’m not apologising.” The Captain snapped, scrunching his face up; the new man opened his mouth, but Debbie seized her chance, and tried to regain whatever semblance of control that she had possessed a moment before, no matter how grateful she was that things hadn’t gone any further.

“I can handle this.” Debbie informed the man, holding her head high and pursing her lips; she couldn’t let someone else fight her battles for her, not while so many people were watching…in fact, she could never let that occur, not while she wanted to maintain her integrity.

“Of course you can.” The man nodded, and with that he lowered his arm from where it had been hovering, but did not move away; Debbie watched him for a moment more, as he respectfully lowered his gaze from hers, before speaking again.

“I don’t want an apology – I don’t need one, you’re not sorry.” Debbie informed the Captain, smirking at the stubborn antipathy that crossed his face, and he pouted; she didn’t have to be big and strong to stand up for herself, she just needed men like him to know that she wouldn’t stand for their nonsense, “But do bear in mind that I have no qualms about crying harassment...for my sake, and for any unfortunate members of the cabin crew that you happen to annoy.”

“That’s a damn cowardly move.” The Captain growled; to Debbie’s disdain, his eyes kept flickering to that of the other man, as if he was expecting him to step in and tell her that such action wasn’t necessary.

“That’s what the harassment policy is there for.” Debbie remarked wryly, relishing the rush of triumph that heated her pores at the way that the Captain’s expression fell; he was finally beginning to understand that she wouldn’t suffer fools, “Don’t get me wrong, I can shout at you until the cows come home…but I’m small, and young, and you’re obviously not so easily cowed as most people.”

“Well now, isn’t that nicely sorted out?” the new pilot interjected before the Captain could say another word, quirking his eyebrows as if to say that if he didn’t agree to her terms, then there would be repercussions.

“Fine, but I’ll be putting this in a report.” The Captain replied gruffly, digging his hands into his pockets and glaring at the floor; his shame only served to make Debbie all the more confident.

“Be my guest.” Debbie drawled, narrowing her eyes at him, nevertheless pulling her arms tightly around her chest as surreptitiously as possible; it was no matter to her, not when the people reading the reports had already been dazzled by her abilities, “It’ll be interesting to see what this looked like from your eyes; I have always been fascinated by the psychology of idiots.”

“This flight, and the one back, and then I’m not flying with her again.” The Captain declared, as if that were some sort of ultimatum; if it wasn’t for the fact that _again_ he spoke to the man beside her, Debbie would have laughed in his face.

As it was, the Captain strode away in a huff, and she watched his back retreating as the iron band around her lungs eased, making it easier to breathe the cool air of the lounge without worrying that she might say something that she would regret. Sighing, and letting her eyes fall closed for only a moment, Debbie turned to address the man at her side, who was watching the Captain leave with a face that spoke of nothing but despair at human kind.

“Thank you.” Debbie announced as politely as she could, pushing her hair behind her ears as she spoke; the man glance back at her, eyes wide and brow leaping as he awaited the conclusion that was so obviously coming, “I didn’t need help, but thank you all the same.”

“I’m sure you would have fought valiantly had that been allowed to dissolve into a full on screaming match.” The man noted smarmily, rolling his eyes at her; it was hard to take offence, as he wasn’t looking her up and down as many people would, and was holding her gaze perfectly as he asked, the epitome of concern, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright flying with him?”

“Yes, of course.” Debbie replied, smirking sardonically; no rude bastard was going to stop her doing her job, “If he bothers me, I’ll just threaten to crash the plane; I’ve found that works rather well.”

“Yes, I imagine it would.” The man muttered good naturedly, nevertheless quirking an eyebrow at her as if waiting for her to tell him that she was only joking; when she simply blinked expectantly at him, he cleared his throat and hooked his hands behind his back, “Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be seeing you again-”

“Moving on to better things?” Debbie inquired, as was the polite thing to do when someone had bothered to stand up for you; she didn’t really care, but there was never any harm in being nice.

“Air England in fact.” The man informed her, bristling with pride, his chest puffing out ever so slightly; Debbie nodded, and he continued, receiving her message loud and clear, “Anyway, I’ll let you get on with your day.” He extended his hand for her to shake, “Herc Shipwright.”

“Debbie Richardson.” Debbie replied, taking his hand and shaking it with a strong grip, sharp and short, accompanied by a small smile; this was good actually, one could always use allies in high places, even if they only had a name.

With that Herc Shipwright tipped his hat, and with a last cursory smile, was gone. Now all Debbie had to do was try and work out how to survive the flight without murdering her Captain; it _would_ be her murdering him, and not the other way around.

oOoOoOo

Eighteen months; that was longer than anyone had given them, and further than Debbie had been able to peer into the future. And yet, when the hammer fell, she wasn’t expecting it. It had been a long day, a lot of which she had spent wondering whether Zach had done well in the test that he had been working towards, yet when she walked through the door of their flat, she expected everything to be okay.

The lights were on, and Zach was sitting at the table, and there were books stacked neatly instead of strewn everywhere; he _had_ been listening to her, she thought as she took it all in and slipped off her uniform jacket, hooking it on the back of the door. Debbie smiled as Zach rose to his feet, but couldn’t make herself come any closer when she saw that expression on his face, the guilty one that he often got, but with a sadder edge to it, far too little light in his eyes.

“Debbie, we need to split up.” Zach announced softly, yet certainly, as he stood as still as she had ever seen him, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans; she heard what he said, but it was like his words didn’t breach the membrane of her mind far enough to do much more than stun her to a halt.

“What?” Debbie asked, blinked blearily as if trying to see and hear through cotton wool; on some level, she must have understood what he said, because her heart rate increased to the point that her lungs struggled to keep up with the extra work, “Zach, what are you going on about?”

“I don’t think that this is working.” Zach elaborated reluctantly, going so far as to shrug weakly with his hands still in his pockets; he didn’t meet her eyes, but instead gazed unfocused at the floor, “Us being married I mean…it doesn’t even feel like we’re married.”

“Hold on…I’ve just come home from a long day at work, and all you’ve got to say to me is that you don’t want to be with me anymore?” Debbie inquired dully, raising her hands into the air, and then lowering them, then wrapping her arms around her chest; something in her mind was screaming, though she couldn’t’ quite hear it over the wash of shivering pain that flooded her lungs, “I don’t understand what you’re saying to me.”

“Debbie, I’m sorry, I really am-” Zach tried to explain, though he didn’t sound sorry; he sounded like he had been caught out when he had never intended to be, as if he were trying to make excuses, “I’ve been sitting here trying to work out what I should do, and this seemed like-”

“Like you should break up with me?” Debbie asked, shaking her head and pressing her lips into a thin line, staring wide eyed at him; she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t even know what she was thinking, other than that this wasn’t right, not at all, not even a little bit, “Why?”

“Because I don’t love you anymore!” Zach snapped, then grimaced at himself, extracting a hand from his pocket to push across his face; he made to take a step towards her, but Debbie shook her head and strode the other way, so that the sofa was between them, “No…that was mean, I’m sorry…I care about you, but…”

“But what?” Debbie demanded shortly, inhaling sharply and setting her shoulders back, fuelled by another rush of defensive anger; having something solid between them helped somewhat, as if by clearing her mind, “I haven’t changed – in fact, I am nothing but honest with you.”

“Yeah…that’s what’s…I….that’s why I’m…” Zach stammered and mumbled, turning his head this way and that, not meeting her eyes even once, and not making a lot of sense; it was as if he couldn’t even stir up the guts to talk to her properly, “It’s probably me, almost entirely me actually…but you’re not…this isn’t what I expected when I asked you to marry me.”

That was what did it; that was all it took for fury to clear Debbie’s mind of the blurring agonising panic that had been begging to know what was going on. At least when the men at work insulted her, they did it while looking her in the eye; Zach had never been the most impressive of men, but she had always thought that he wasn’t such a coward that he couldn’t let her down to her face.

“What isn’t?” Debbie snapped, glaring at him from across the room; inwardly, she was fighting between her love for him, however much of it still existed after months of existing around each other, and the impulsive need to fight back, “Be precise, Zach, before I have time to think of all the ways that _you’re_ not what I expected.”

“I don’t want you anymore.” Zach replied as if this were a reasonable thing to say, as he threw his hands out either side of him; he lifted his gaze long enough to look Debbie in the eye, gulping as he did so, “That’s it, I just don’t want you anymore.”

“Why?” Debbie demanded, schooling her expression and measuring her tone; she had to stay calm, because she still couldn’t quite process the idea of just going along with what he was saying to her, “You said that you’d support me-”

“I did support you, all through flight-school.” Zach insisted, running a hand through his blond hair; that wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but he seemed to think that that meant something. It had meant something, or Debbie had thought that it had, at the time.

“And I’ve been supporting you through medical school.” Debbie countered, holding herself together as she rested her hands on the back of the sofa; that had been the point, after all, to be there for each other and have someone there to support the other through such a difficult time. She couldn’t begin to imagine when Zach had stopped adoring her every move.

“It’s not the same.” Zach exclaimed; Debbie watched his hands as they moved rapidly and aimlessly, and tried not to scoff as he spoke, ignoring the pang of betrayal that rolled like a stone down her throat, “When I married you, I…I had this image of you in my head of what we’d be like and…and it didn’t include a wife who wasn’t even in the same country as me half the time.”

“That’s my job.” Debbie replied curtly, tilting her chin up just a fraction; he could insult her all he liked, but she was not going to feel guilty about the one thing that she had worked hard at, and actually loved enough to carry on, “That doesn’t make you love me less, that just means that I love my job, and I’m actually enjoying what I’m doing with my life.”

“This isn’t what I was expecting-” Zach started again, and it was as if he didn’t hear what was being said to him, simply making his excuses and trying to back out; everything was her fault, and not his, and that more than anything made her swallow the pain and grasp at the rage he induced, because he was most definitely not to most impressive husband that had ever been.

“You keep saying that, and I don’t know what that means, Zach!” Debbie didn’t raise her voice, but it was a close call, as she gripped the back of the sofa with all of her might; she was starting to get her head around what he was asking, that he didn’t want them to be a part of each other’s lives any more, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“It means you’re not as perfect as I thought you were, okay.” Zach groaned, letting his hands drop to his sides and turning as if to pace away, before turning back on his heel; he could behave as frustrated as he liked, he was still in the wrong.

“Okay?” Debbie repeated, raising her eyebrows derisively at him; this was so _him_ , so like Zach to try and brush things away, and to make light of it, as if it were no matter at all.

“When we were dating, and when we first got married, I thought you were the most amazing girl in the world!” Zach exclaimed, gesturing towards her before thinking better of it, “I thought that you were this cool, sophisticated woman, who knew everything and could do anything, and you could breeze through school without lifting a finger, and you were perfect.” He shook his head and for a moment his expression turned sour, “But now, it’s like, you were working so hard studying, and then all you wanted to talk about was flying, and you didn’t want to come to parties and have fun with me anymore…you’re not perfect, you’re just scrabbling to get everything together.”

“You know why, Zach?” Debbie inquired sharply, her nerves reaching their breaking point; she had enough trouble with men at work wanting her to be better than the best, but no believing that she could because of who she was, “Because perfection is hard work!”

That time she did shout, but only for a moment; just like that, it was like a switch flicked in her head, and a dam broke in her chest, and everything that she had been holding back for the sake of seeming professional and untouchable shattered. The time for cool and unconcerned was gone – damn it, she could be angry, and passionate, and excited, and she could still be the best person _any_ of them were ever going to meet.

It occurred to her, like a whisper in the back of her mind, that perhaps that had been what Mum and Dad had always been nagging her about; it wasn’t about shutting herself off and becoming the best. She had done it in school, and she had done it as a child; Debbie could run rings around all of them while indulging in the arts and in pranks and in all sorts of things, and she was _sick_ of pretending to be emotionally flawless as well as perfect in capability.

“I just feel like you’re not the woman I fell in love with.” Zach mumbled, pouting at her as if that was _her_ fault, and not his for being a doting, deluded idiot. Then again, she _had_ married him knowing that he was like that; he couldn’t be allowed to take all of the responsibility, she thought bitterly.

“That’s because you didn’t fall in love with a woman!” Debbie hissed through gritted teeth, letting herself fill up with anger, which was so much better than the misery of moments before, “What you just described isn’t _me_ , that’s some shitty trophy wife who’s good at everything and detached from the world and doesn’t have any passion for her career.”

“Well that’s what you were offering!” Zach accused her, finally meeting her gaze and holding it, growing a spine; so now she would finally get to know what had been going through his head when he had asked her to marry him.

“I wasn’t offering anything.” Debbie scoffed, all the better for rolling her eyes and holding her tongue against the worse things she could have said; she had never lied to him, and she wasn’t going to now, “I liked you, and then you seemed to like me, and then I cared for you because you said you cared for me-”

“Do you really?” Zach inquired, his features flying wide and displaying the hopeless disdain that he must have been holding in for months, and months, all the while pretending that everything was okay, “Because you’ve barely seen me over the past few months.”

“You’re right.” Debbie agreed vigorously, and then stopped, stilling and swallowing hard to calm the heaving of her chest, as she stepped back from the sofa; her voice fell, and all that was left was a venom that she hadn’t known she possessed, not where Zach was concerned, “I don’t anymore…we haven’t been married, we’ve just been sharing a flat and having sex.”

“It’s not my fault you act like something you’re not.” Zach muttered, and with that he yanked a chair from beneath the table and dropped into it; he sounded as if he thought that the matter was over and done with, but that wasn’t right at all.

Just like that, Debbie couldn’t pretend any longer – wouldn’t pretend any longer, or hold parts of herself in. The past few months may have spelled the end of their relationship, but they had given her something else. Debbie knew that she was _good_ , and she knew what he place in the world was, with or without him, even if every step of the way ached.

“You want to know what I am?” Debbie asked, suddenly still, and calm, and miraculously able to hold her head high, keep the sneer from her lips, and glare at her husband from across the room, “I am a pilot! I am a professional pilot, and I did that all on my own. I am not cool and detached and unnaturally perfect because I’m trying to impress _you_ , or any of the other men that I have to endure at work.”

“I _am_ damn near perfect, because I am a multi-talented woman who excels at whatever I try, I am cool and intelligent and articulate, and have been since long before I ever met you, and I am confident because I damn well deserve every inch of respect that I demand.” Her chest was heaving now, but Debbie could almost feel her lips curling into a smirk, unable to think of how else to articulate the surge of righteousness that filled her chest and let her stand tall, “Just because _you_ , and a lot of people can’t get that through their heads, doesn’t mean I’m not going to force it in whether you like it or not.”

“That’s more of what I remembered.” Zach’s voice was barely more than a murmur, but his eyes were fixed on her, narrowed, eyebrows meeting in the middle as if he were confused, or seeing through a looking glass into the past.

“Yes, it is; you know why?” Debbie inquired, her voice rising as she spoke; she hadn’t even known that she needed to say all of this, or even known that she felt it, “Because I am sick of cutting out the things that I enjoy and make me happy for the sake of _appearing_ superior. I _am_ superior, and I’m not going to pretend as if I’m not _me_ so that I can impress people like you!” she let out a scoff, and shook her head, paying him little attention, “I am going to force word games on every pilot that I fly with, because you know what, I _like_ my goofy games, I’m going to quit being stoic and ladylike and actually get into things elbow-deep, because that’s what I’ve been wanting to do, and I am going to be passionate about music and art and literature, because I _like_ those things, and people are going to have to accept that I am the best thing to ever hit the skies even though I’m still very much _me_ – no, _because_ of that. I am superior, and amazing, and a little bit sarcastic, but I’m tired of being _cool_ and complacent, because it’s _no fun_.”

“Well good for you.” Zach replied bitterly, barely giving the air time to settle; he stayed sitting as he was, but his expression was stormy, and colder than she had ever seen it, “But I still don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Fine.” Debbie retorted faintly, taking another deep breath to keep herself calm; for the first time in a very long time, she felt completely in control, “I don’t need you…I’m going to perfectly fine on my own.”

oOoOoOo

Seeing the back of Zach was nothing like Debbie had expected; the divorce was quick, and she got the flat, but that was all just formalities.

Yes, it hurt, and she cried every night for about a week, but only when there was no one else around to hear; Debbie found that that sad swilling in the pit of her chest was easily remedied by knocking back a few drinks each night. Not enough that she was impaired for her flight the next day, but enough that she could enjoy being on her own, and then go to sleep without a fuss.

If anything, the fight had been the best thing to happen to her career; it gave Debbie the chance to figure out what had been going wrong. She had been going wrong, that was the answer; that perfect, untouchable, unconcerned woman that Zach had wanted…she had been pretending to be that, to be as good as the men in skills and sharpness of tongue, whilst losing anything that made her truly fearsome.

So Debbie let it out, everything that made her, _her_ …her wit, her sense of humour, her passion for language, the arts, and for _fun_ …she had been keeping them tucked away because she had thought that any deviation from the tough and purposeful image that she had created in her head would let her down, but the reality was so much different.

Debbie Richardson, or Deborah now, because she had found that people assumed she was older when they heard that, and didn’t question her presence quite so much…she might not have been fully respected, or accepted, but it was happening, slowly but surely.

What had been steadfast ‘allure’, was now smooth charm, and smooth the way it did. It turned out her sharp tongue was far more appealing when it was turned to humour, and sarcastic witticisms outside the sphere of battle; it wasn’t about respecting her intelligence or intellect, it simply allowed for the other pilots and cabin crew to warm up to her, to laugh, and to accept her whether they liked it or not.

Professionalism went out of the window, and somehow, when Deborah exhibited her genuine joy at succeeding in the flight-deck, her knowledge of her superiority with a smile, and her competitiveness in words games (which were her new method of testing whether her Captain was nice or rude)…she had thought that that would let her down, but somehow people saw her passion, and suddenly she was taken out for drinks as ‘one of the lads’, only to find that she was rather apt at bar games and quizzes.

It seemed that the moment she stopped trying to be perfect, Deborah became _incredible_ , which was almost as good. Better in fact, because she wasn’t just succeeding, she was taking the world by _storm_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Oh, years and years of hard work and charming her way through work and social life had most definitely paid off, of that, Deborah had no doubt whatsoever; she should have known from the moment that she started working for Air England that her life was looking up, and that she was on the rise, never to descend or find herself stuck in a rut. It was truly a magnificent day.

There wasn’t a single person that would dare to say a word against her skills as a pilot, as Deborah could blow them out of the water, able to pull of tricky manoeuvres with hardly a flick of her wrist, barely even having to focus; she could have flown from New York to New Zealand drunk, not that she would ever dare.

There wasn’t a single person left that questioned Deborah’s right to be there either, not that she heard most of what they were saying; although she could charm whoever she spoke to, put down those that weren’t worth speaking to, and generally get on with everything should she need to, Deborah was still rather solitary, moving in her own circles and joining the ranks of her fellow pilots only to keep up appearances and prove that she was in fact one of the lads.

Perhaps they still whispered behind her back about the many things that First Officer Richardson was up to, but as a large portion of them had propositioned her at some point, and been turned down in favour of men that weren’t part of the company, Deborah couldn’t care less. Respect did not come from sleeping with colleagues, and those men that she met abroad, as lovely as they were, were only appealing for a night and after a few drinks to steel her confidence just that tad more.

But alas, Deborah was happy with her lot in life, and proud enough that she could spend weekends with Dad and Archie, listening to them talk about their thrilling careers, one long past as retirement had set in, and one soaring through the ranks of fashionable designers, plotting to take over a whole modelling company. She could listen to this, and then smoothly interject her own achievements, stories of her travels, the people that she had met…it was a good life, and Deborah could honestly look at herself in the mirror and feel that she had done well.

Even Mum couldn’t have argued with that; Deborah may have been self-sufficient and excelling in a male dominated atmosphere, but she liked to think that for all the sporting knowledge that she spewed, and the bar banter, she had maintained a certain sense of self and femininity that Mum could never have found fault with.

But today, today was a good day to crown all of the good days that she had had in the past few years, and as Deborah strode through the airport and found the pilots lounge, familiar by now, she needed someone unto which she could pile her pride. Although she knew most everyone now, save for the rather plentiful numbers of pilots that wafted in and out, there were only a handful that Deborah could call close acquaintances, and even then she was loathe to call them friends. She might not have liked them, per say, but it was good to have someone familiar to sit and talk to, and to share the turning points of one’s life with.

Which was why Deborah pleased that upon entering the pilot’s lounge, she found Hercules Shipwright lounging on one of the sofas, flicking through what might have been a flight-plan, or another official document. He couldn’t quite be called a friend, but out of all the other pilots that Deborah knew personally, Herc was the most polite and amiable, if not completely insufferable; perfect for keeping her company when she wanted it, but not the sort of person that she actually _liked_.

When Deborah had first joined Air England, Herc had sought her out within the first week, having recognised her from their brief interaction at her previous airline; that had been nice, but it seemed that he had only come to see if it was actually true, just as someone might be bemusedly interested in a puppy that had learnt to walk and talk and operate heavy machinery. Of course, Herc was an all-round good person, a humanitarian, a feminist, a sanctimonious sod – but he _knew_ that, and he was a smarmy git, and he used all of his charitable assets as a way to look at her as if he were always think ‘I’m better than you’.

Nevertheless, it was someone to talk to, and someone who wouldn’t walk away; it was worth putting up with the back and forth for the sake of conversation.

“Oh, look!” Deborah announced as she strode into the room, arms outstretched, her hat clutched in one hand; a few people glanced up, but it was Herc, his hair already lightening somewhat under his hat and the lines on his face having grown just a tad more taut, that lowered his papers to his lap and lifted his head, raising his eyebrows, understanding that he was the recipient of her greeting, “Of all the people that could have been around for me to boast at, I find little old you; how marvellous a turn of events.”

“Hello, Deborah.” Herc replied, taking a moment to eye the neat state of her uniform as she grabbed a chair from the side of the room and swung it down in front of the sofa, dropping down on it, and crossing one leg over the other; he was eyeing her with that smarmy superiority that he possessed in such great amounts, “You’re in an awfully good mood for someone who’s spent the last hour or so talking to the boss.”

“How do you know I was talking to the boss?” Deborah asked, folding her arms and attempting not to show her surprise, even as the answer supplied itself to her; of course people had been gossiping, and the message had made its way to Herc after only an hour.

“Alas, word spreads quickly.” Herc remarked, placing his hand over his chest, confirming her suspicions; it was no matter though, only a mere inconvenience that would wash away within a few days, especially given how wrong they all were, “Everyone’s been gossiping about it since the moment you disappeared through the door.”

“Hoping that I’d get fired?” Deborah inquired primly, smirking as she pouted her lips and looked upon Herc as if he were the one in need of sympathy; the chances of him feeling guilty were slim, but that didn’t mean she was going to bow and accept his mockery.

“Placing bets actually.” Herc stated cheerfully, though he must have seen Deborah’s expression stiffen, as she swallowed back a retort that wouldn’t have been as sharp as she might have liked, “It turns out that we all have different ideas as to why you might actually get sacked; Ronald thought it might be the smuggling, but I’m leaning more towards the drinking.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the amount that I drink.” Deborah replied curtly, gripping the edges of her hat against her palms, and trying not to fiddle with the braiding; the thought may have entered her mind once or twice, that perhaps she consumed more alcohol that was strictly necessary, but they had been swiftly dismissed, “It’s not like I’ve ever been drunk on the flight-deck.”

“Hmmm, see I don’t think that’s entirely true.” Herc drawled, smirking at her as he placed his papers to the side and folded his hands together, resting them on his lap; the smarmy bastard, he couldn’t just let her dispense her good news, could he, “Nobody can drink so much of a night without experiencing some sort of hang-over the next day…not unless there’s still alcohol in their system.”

“Even if that were true, which it’s not, that’s irrelevant.” Deborah retorted dryly, holding her head high and setting her shoulders back; it didn’t matter what people were saying about her behind her back, today was a good day, and quite possibly the peak of her career, so she wasn’t going to let him ruin it, “I’ve just been made Captain.”

“Oh, dear lord.” Herc explained, his eyebrows rising in a show of genuine surprise, as he failed to maintain a cool façade; it was hard to tell whether he was pleased or not, but that didn’t matter, not really, so long as he was stunned into submission, “Does this mean that I’m going to receive a ream of First Officers that have been made to endure your relentless word games?”

“I like to think of it as a test of personality.” Deborah explained proudly, and she took that moment to flick her hat across the gap between them, so that Herc could inspect the ring of gold braid, while she nonchalantly adjusted the position of her arms so that the stripes on her wrist were more prominent; it was showmanship, but she reckoned that she deserved it, “Those people that take part in my games, whether they do well or not, prove that they’re patient and open to having fun, and trying to make connections.”

“And those that don’t like your games?” Herc inquired, tossing her hat back into her hands with an arching sweep that she didn’t even have to move to intercept; he had been one of those Captain’s that hadn’t cooperated with her games when she had first flown with him, going so far as to laugh and look down his nose at her as if she were doing something particularly dear.

“Are bad people, with no imagination.” Deborah answered wryly, daintily placing her hat atop her head and meeting Herc’s gaze without a shred of humility; nothing could be allowed to dampen her spirits, “You can have those ones; they’re not worth my time if they won’t humour me.”

“So…I assume that now you’re a Captain, we won’t be flying together anymore.” Herc remarked after a moment in which he simply nodded and pressed his lips together; it was true, now that she was a Captain, there was no longer any need to endure the sometimes slavish, sometimes demeaning gazes of her senior pilots, “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“You would be right.” Deborah replied proudly, smirking and tilting her chin into the air; now she was in charge, there was no need to bow and scrape, if there was trouble during the flight, she would be the one to put an end to it, “Captain Deborah Richardson needs no other Captain on her flight-deck to keep her in check; she is in control, in command, and demanding of the respect of both her crew and her passengers.”

“There’s a difference between respecting you, and being charmed by you.” Herc informed her, as if there were any real difference at all; sure, Deborah might have preferred it if her colleagues’ good manners weren’t so forced at times, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him of all people.

“I’m not sure that you can know that, really, seeing as neither of those tricks worked on you.” Deborah retorted, making sure to glare with particular heat at him before plastering on a superior smile; so Herc wasn’t at all fooled by her adopted demeanour, but he was only one man, “Regardless, everyone understands that I’m the better pilot on board whichever aircraft I might be flying, and that’s good enough for me.”

“I’m sure it is.” Herc nodded, rolling his eyes in such a way that it made Deborah’s hackles rise; nevertheless, he ignored this, if he noticed it at all, and smiled, clapping his hands together as he shifted to perch on the edge of the sofa, in preparation to rise to his feet, “Well, congratulations I suppose.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied briefly, letting her hostility fade as Herc stood and straightened his uniform, plucking his papers from where he had abandoned them at his side; that didn’t quell the urge to make a sardonic remark though, as he began to walk away, “I estimate ten years before I’m Chief Pilot.”

“If that ever happens,” Herc remarked, turning to look down at her; the glint in his eyes wasn’t as pleasing as she had expected, “then I will graciously bow down and submit myself to whichever demeaning task you see fit.”

“Deal.” Deborah replied hastily, grasping for the upper hand and rising to her feet as well, very deliberately not extending her hand in the traditional gesture; she was proud of herself, surely that was enough, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a flight-plan to write up.”

oOoOoOo

There were a couple of days free before Deborah’s next flight, so she had decided to take a night out in order to relax; tomorrow night she would stay in and read, or listen to the radio, but tonight it would be nice to sit in a bar and knock back a few drinks, and to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere of quiet music, and slow murmurs from all sides of the room. If she could find some company for the evening, then that might be fun too…but there was no harm in being alone; it would be peaceful.

After an hour or two, Deborah couldn’t tell due to the pleasant fuzzing around her senses and the ebbing lack of the voice in the back of her head, the one that occasionally voiced anxieties and doubts, it seemed as if her musings had been prayers, as the seat beside her was filled.

Deborah turned to acknowledge the new presence, and was greeted by a man that she had never seen before, but who she was very glad to see now; he was smiling coyly at her, his aim clear in his eyes, but Deborah couldn’t say that she minded. He must have been older than her, with dark hair and a neat stubble framing his chin, making him look like a movie star dressed in an ensemble of jumpers and trousers better suited to a grandfather trying to pass as a student. A very handsome conundrum.

“Excuse me.” The man cleared his throat and announced his presence, as if Deborah hadn’t already turned to acknowledge him, sitting confidently at her side, one arm on the bar as he rested in what must have been an attempt at suavity; his eyes wandered from Deborah’s face and down, what was in her opinion, her unattractively attired form, “May I just say, you are the most gorgeous woman that I’ve seen for the last eighty miles of my journey?”

“You may.” Deborah replied shortly, smirking and inhaling slowly, adopting a cool and relaxed posture, her hand tracing briefly through her hair; she knew how this worked, and as flattered as she was, she was only playing along because she had heard far more vulgar things in her time, “May I ask what your intentions are in saying such a flattering thing?”

“Only that you let me buy you another drink, and sit and talk to you for a while.” The man replied, nodding sideways towards where the barman was keeping an eye on them, ready as if to pounce and serve; talking, Deborah had to admit, was an offer that she almost never turned down, not when the fluttering in her guts came as easily as it did after four or five drinks, “You’ve got that look about you, the one that says you’ve got some interesting things to tell.”

“Either you are very perceptive,” Deborah drawled, letting her smile settled more naturally on her lips as she met the man’s gaze, and settled more comfortably on her bar stool; she liked him, he was easy on the eye, and good with his words, and therefore easy to flirt with without feeling as if she were lowering herself, “or you’re making that up.”

“I’m making it up.” The man admitted, shrugging nonchalantly as if it were no matter at all; he really wasn’t lacking in confidence or self-assurance, which was in itself, rather refreshing, just as refreshing as the genuine attraction that he was exhibiting, especially after days of being around men that were sick of the sight of her, “But you are gorgeous though.”

“Alright, you can stay.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes as if his company was a burden, though she could feel his eyes and his smile grow wider, as he leaned in a little closer; as she turned back to the bar to wave over the barman, Deborah was able to see through her inebriation well enough to remember herself, and her pride, “But you can only buy me a drink if I buy you the next one.”

“That sounds like a deal to me.” The man nodded solemnly, giving a little false salute and nodding for the barman to bring him a repeat of their last orders; then he extended his hand for Deborah to take, and lost some of his overdramatic swagger, as if he were sure that he had succeeded in his task, “Chris Chalmers.”

“Deborah Richardson…it’s a pleasure.” Deborah took Chris’s hand in hers, and was treated to a strong grasp that only served to pique her interest, and her gratitude for this man’s attentions; she was well aware of his dark eyes tracing up and down her form, lingering on her face and lips, but he was gracious and polite, so…it really was a pleasure, “So, you said you were on a journey; where are you travelling to?”

“Here actually.” Chris replied, gesturing around him, encompassing the whole bar in the effort; he smiled awkwardly, almost bashfully at that, “I was hoping to scope out my new local, and I’m glad I did now. I had to move for the course that I’m doing.”

“Going back to school, are you?” Deborah inquired, quirking her eyebrow at him as he received his drink, and a new glass was placed into her grasp; she maintained eye contact, holding his gaze, knowing that this was likely to hold his interest in her, assuring him that he was winning hers.

“Yeah, I’m being a mature student.” Chris explained, leaning sideways against the bar as he spoke, leaning in as if carried by a passion for his education; after weeks around no one but pilots, it was nice to hear about another arena of life, “I’m training to teach primary kids; my last attempt at a career flopped, so I thought I’d have a go and doing what my old man did.”

“And do you enjoy working with children?” Deborah prompted him, eager to learn more; her mind was already made up, and she was charmed by him, but trying to create a bigger picture of him was only cementing her opinion; not only handsome and confident, but good with children, that was a definite point on his behalf, “I assumed that that was quite a difficult field to grow used to.”

“I love kids, and I always wanted to be the one at the front of the classroom, filling them with knowledge.” Chris explained, nodding sagely as if he were declaring his efforts towards world peace; he swayed slightly, but that was of no importance, as he cleared his throat and said with a pronounced eloquence, “I think that the children are our future-”

“Now, I _know_ that’s not your line.” Deborah interrupted, unable to keep the smile from her face as she sipped at her drink, pacing herself now that she had someone to remain lucid for; the man had balls, that much was sure, and she rather liked that about him, positive attentions aside, “That’s admirable though, working with children; I don’t have the patience for it.”

“What do you do then?” Chris asked in lieu of a response, turning the full power of his attention onto her, as his tongue darted out from between his lips, “Somehow I can’t see you as a stay at home sort of woman.”

“God forbid.” Deborah muttered, relieved when Chris let out a little scoff, successfully amused by her statement; this was the moment of truth, in which she discovered whether she would be accepted or insulted based on her profession, and when she made her final decision as to her opinion of him based on his reception, “I’m a pilot actually, for Air England.”

“Wow, _really?”_ Chris whistled through his teeth and glanced over her, appreciatively, nodding as if he liked what he saw; that was exactly what she had been aiming for, that impressed hum and intrigued stare, as he asked suavely, “So I’m talking to Pilot Deborah Richardson, then?”

“ _Captain_ Richardson, actually.” Deborah drawled, correcting him with a stern look, lifting her drink as she pointed demonstratively at him, setting her expression into one of stern deliberation; then, because she felt that she could, and because she felt that it was necessary to steal the upper hand, she remarked wryly, “I reckon I outrank you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Chris chuckled, raising his free hand in surrender as he threw back a mouthful of his drink; Deborah tried not to fidget under his inspection, as he was most definitely looking her over, admiring at leisure with none of the restraint of before, “Wow…a nice looking woman _and_ a professional; now that’s quite a package.”

“Oh, you think so do you?” Deborah purred, leaning in just so and shaking her head just enough that her hair fell before her ears; this wasn’t even flirting anymore, but there was no reason that she couldn’t draw it out.

“Yeah.” Chris assured her, smirking as he met her gaze; his eyes narrowed and he motioned clumsily towards her, “The one thing I can’t work out is why you’re _here_ , all alone, when you could be in the bed of whichever man you pleased – a handsome traveller from abroad perhaps.”

“A professional mysterious jet-setter focuses on the jet-setting.” Deborah informed him, lowering her voice and sitting back as if to increase the mystery; the truth was, she cared about her job, and wasn’t about to risk being demeaned during working hours for the sake of a fling or two, “It’s only when I’m home, like tonight, for example, that I really get to let my hair down and relax. I’d say it was pure luck that you walked through the door.”

“It could be.” Chris replied, his intentions as clear as the glint in his eyes and the curl of his lips as he slipped a hand across the bar towards where hers curled around her glass; she didn’t move to take it, holding her ground, “How would you feel if I said I wanted to hear more about this jet-setting? Back at my place, maybe?”

“How about my place?” Deborah suggested, schooling her expression and pursing her lips; she held the higher ground here, even if she had been enticed by his charm and manners, and how quickly he had been entranced by not only her appearance, but her career, “My car’s outside, and I’d rather not leave it.”

“How do you know my car isn’t waiting outside?” Chris retorted, placing his drink down on the bar as he grinned daringly at her.

“You said you’d just arrived in town, and that you were exploring your new local.” Deborah remarked, enjoying the way that his eyes widened as if he were dreadfully impressed; that was all for the better, as an impression was exactly what she hoped to create, “It seems to me like you would have walked in an attempt to work out the area.”

“God, you’re smart.” Chris drawled, all pretence of coolness and suavity gone as he almost growled under his breath; he leaned across the gap between them, his arm resting on the bar between them as he looked into her eyes, “I really would like to get to know you better.”

“Let me finish my drink,” Deborah replied, smiling warmly and batting her eyelashes at him, taking a sip of her drink as if to show him that she meant what she said; this was enjoyable, and she wasn’t quite ready to abandon the night yet, not when there was the chance for a little fun, “then you can lead the way.”

oOoOoOo

“Debbie...” Chris broke the silence between them, his voice still low and gravelly from the exertion of their previous activities; Deborah paused in her dressing, and turned, still buttoning her shirt, so that she could see him where he still lay in bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist, “You know that this is great, and that as a person, and as a woman that I know, I think you’re great?”

“I think you mentioned it a few times.” Deborah retorted lightly, smirking as she bent down to search for her jumper, which she had been sure she had folded and left at the side of the bed; Chris said a lot of things, but there was also a lot that he didn’t say…she was under no illusions as to what the past few months had been, despite how pleasant it was to have regular company, “The feeling’s mutual by the way…you’re a great person, I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Hmmm.” Chris hummed in acknowledgement, and propped himself up on his elbow so that he could address her more sincerely, though his words were anything but welcome, “My point is…you do know that even though we occasionally do this, that I’m really not looking for a relationship right now?”

“I’m aware of that as well.” Deborah remarked curtly, turning away from him so that she could use the inside of his wardrobe and its small mirror to better arrange her hair; it allowed her to keep an eye on what Chris was doing, “I rather gathered from your reluctance to do dates, or to provide romantic gestures, or let me stay beyond the morning. It occurred to me that if you had those sorts of feelings for me, you might have indulged in such activities.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Chris agreed, nodding lazily; he was worrying his lip between his teeth, as if he felt guilty to be saying such things, “I just wanted to make that very clear, in case you thought that I was leading you on.”

“No, I don’t think that.” Deborah retorted dryly, deliberately ignoring the uncomfortable flop in her stomach and the absence of much of anything in her chest; it had been fun at first, but only a fool could think after so many months that she was anything more to Chris that entertainment, “I have been wondering what it is precisely that you don’t find appealing, as you seem to find _me_ …appealing.”

“You’re gorgeous, and witty, and generally really attractive; there’s no denying that.” Chris reeled off a list of sentiments that she had heard before, and she had to simply inhale slowly and pretend that it didn’t make her want to throw something at him, even though she craved his attention, “You’ve even got an impressive job. I do care, Debbie, I do, but you’re just not right for me.”

“How so?” Deborah inquired, glancing at his reflection; it never did any good to hear other’s opinions of oneself, but perhaps it would help her to do better in the future, “What more could you want?”

“Because, as a person, I’m not really getting a lot from you; you hold back a lot, which is a mark against you.” Chris explained, curling his hand through the air as he stared thoughtfully into the middle distance; he was honest, and she supposed that that was a good thing, if nothing else, “And I’m training to be a teacher, a position of responsibility, and you…you’re the least responsible person I know – I just don’t approve of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Deborah demanded, turning on her heel and folding her arms over her chest, so that she could glare at Chris properly, and impress upon him just how much she _wasn’t_ alright with his brutal honesty; she knew that she had her faults, but there was nothing about her not to approve of.

“It means that you’re a pilot, in charge of dangerous machinery, but you’re an alcoholic, and that’s not good for someone in the kind of job that you do.” Chris spoke as if it pained him, although it was Deborah that pursed her lips and dropped her gaze, refusing to feel guilty; she never did anything _wrong_ , not at all, it was all just a bit of fun, “And you’re reckless – all those schemes and smugglings that you tell me about, they’re ridiculous. Some people like that, but…it doesn’t really do it for me.”

“Thank you…that was enlightening.” Deborah replied tersely, straightening her back and schooling her expression, dampening down the indignation that flared in her chest; her decision had been made before he had even finished speaking, strengthened by the certainty that years of being a successful and professional pilot had created, “You know what, I’m going home. We’re not doing this anymore.”

“What?” Chris’s face fell, and he shifted where he lay, as if jolted into alertness by her declaration; his eyebrows knitted with confusion, “Why not?”

“Because, although I am flattered that you find me attractive,” Deborah explained sternly, proud to hear that her voice was strong; her coat was on the kitchen table, it would take less than a minute to make a dramatic and effective exit, “I am worth far more than someone who doesn’t really like me.”

oOoOoOo

This couldn’t be happening; it just wasn’t fair. The last time that Deborah had been in this office, she had been being made a Captain, and been praised for her skills, for her personality; she had been given the best moment of her life. The boss couldn’t possibly be doing this, not over something so ridiculous, not after everything she had achieved; it wasn’t fair.

“You’re sacking me?” Deborah exclaimed, gripping the arms of the seat reserved for guests as if they might root her to some sense of safety, or sanity; everything around her felt so sharp and cold and as if it were moving too quickly for her to grab a hold of, as the CEO, Barker, stormed around his desk and sat behind it like a general having to court-marshal an officer in his ranks for some sort of atrocity, “For this one, tiny little thing?”

“Smuggling isn’t a tiny little thing Miss Richardson.” Barker snapped, his chest heaving, and his eyes flickering from her face to his desk, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at her, while his hand curled in front of his mouth, “It is a punishable offence.”

“It was barely even smuggling.” Deborah insisted, unable to control the abject panic that was clenching at her guts, and squeezing at her throat; there had to be some way that she could talk her way out of this, she couldn’t let this job slip through her fingers, not for one small slip up, “Kimonos are not an illegal substance; they just happened to not be part of the day’s cargo – nothing ‘punishable’ at all.”

“They were sown into your uniform.” Barker reminded her, irritably glaring into her before breaking away as if burnt, “That makes it very obvious to me that you weren’t supposed to be trading them with that customs officer, outside of your hand luggage.”

“Alright, I will admit that that was a little out of order.” Deborah conceded, raising her hands into the air; perhaps she could appeal to his better nature, or win him over if she didn’t fight, “But that’s no reason to let me go; I’m one of your best pilots!”

“I think that your skills have been going to your head; over inflating your ego just a bit.” Barker remarked bitterly, as if she had done him a personal offence; with his bushy moustache and sixty odd years, he had barely spent enough time in her company for that to be true, “This on its own isn’t enough to get you sacked, but I think you’ve been pulling stunts like this for years, and that this is just the first time anyone’s caught you.”

“You can’t prove that.” Deborah replied tersely, averting her eyes; she had known that she needed to calm it down, that she would need to let down her ‘friends’ abroad at least until her colleagues stopped whispering behind her back, but it had been like an itch that she couldn’t scratch enough, and one _tiny_ little slip up, and now here she was, “That’s just speculation.”

“And from what I’ve heard, there’s an awful lot of speculation.” Barker stated, as if his words were proven facts; the leaden weight that they dropped into the pit of her lungs was real enough, “Not just about you ferrying things you shouldn’t across borders.”

“What are you implying?” Deborah asked, her voice faint as she stiffened and a hard lump formed in her throat; people were always talking…what had they been gossiping about now?

“I’m implying that the only reason we caught you today, is because you’re too hung over to cover your tracks.” Barker growled, his jowl wobbling as he glared at her; she had a bit of a headache, but she wasn’t hung over…Deborah never came to work hung over, even if she had been drinking the night before, “How am I supposed to allow you to fly my planes if you could be drunk at the wheel?”

“I never drink when I’m flying.” Deborah said stiltedly, feeling as if she were choking on every word, indignation meshing horribly with wounded pride; this was her life, her entire world, she would never be so stupid, “I am a good pilot-”

“I don’t care, Richardson.” Barker almost shouted, slamming his hand down on the desk in anger; it was as if he had been meaning to get rid of her for a while, and simply hadn’t had the means or the reason, “You’re out.”

“You can’t just sack me!” Deborah tried not to beg, but she sounded too shrill to her own ears; she gripped the arms of her seat as she desperately leaned forwards, chest heaving as she struggled to hold a sensible rate of breathing, “I need this job – no one’s going to hire me if they find out that Air England booted me out!”

“Tough!” Barker snapped, before clamping his mouth shut and taking a deep breath, as if he were steadying himself for a calmer interaction; regardless, his words were just as harsh, like knives to the gut, “You’re a liability, and I can’t afford to keep you. I am firing you, with immediate effect.”

“Please, don’t do that.” Deborah could barely manage more than a desperate squeak, as she felt her eyes prickle with the effort it took not to completely fall to pieces; she had been feeling queasy all day, that was why her focus had been off, but now she could have fainted from the dizzying misery that tugged at her heart.

“It’s happening.” Barker told her, with no waver or falter in his tone to indicate that he was sorry for her position; just like that the weight of everything that was happening crashed down on her shoulders, and Deborah barely heard what he said next, “I’m not going to raise an inquiry, so you can keep your licence, but beyond that you’re on your own.”

Deborah didn’t even hear his dismissal, but somehow she made it home at the end of the day; she must have, because she woke up on her sofa with a head that felt as if it might split in two.

oOoOoOo

“What is this?” Deborah demanded as a light box landed in her lap, obviously flung by her brother as Archie strode past the back of the sofa; tossing the papers that she had been examining to the side, she turned the box over, and when she saw what it was, a ripple of discomfort prickled through her pores, “Why are you giving me this?”

It was things like this, the endless interfering and trying to help her as if she were still a teenager, that made Deborah certain that she needed to leave Archie’s London home immediately; she had sold her flat after Air England had dropped her, so that she had money to live on while she sought refuge with Archie…only until she found another job, then she would be gone and treated like an adult again. It might not have been so awful, had Deborah not been feeling so damn ill over the past month or so; she knew that it was probably the grief and the unsettling nature of losing everything, but it didn’t half make it difficult to get along with him.

Archie, it seemed, had a very different idea as to why she was under the weather, and it made Deborah want to hurl the box, purchased cheaply at Boots, back in his face; it was good this, this feeling as if she could tear out his throat…it just about masked the nausea that she was experiencing.

“Because, as loathe as I am to involve myself in such a horrible business, you need it.” Archie replied, as if he would rather be discussing anything else; he made up for it by slipping his coat onto his shoulders instead of paying her too close attention, “You might be willing to bury your head in the sand, but I’m not about to let you.”

“I’m not pregnant.” Deborah sniped, nonetheless turning the box over and over in her palms; that wasn’t an option, it really couldn’t be, she wouldn’t even allow the idea to settle in her mind, because it was the worst possible time for something like that to happen, “I’m just feeling ill from all the alcohol that I’ve been pouring down my neck.”

“So you do understand that you’re drinking too much lately?” Archie inquired, cocking his eyebrows and fixing her with a pointed stare; he was making a point, and she couldn’t help but hate him with the same fiery passion as she had when she had been a child, “That’s nice.”

“I’ve had my suspicions.” Deborah remarked wanly, ducking her head and sniffing at length, pouting her lips; on the one hand, drinking had done wonders in the past month in terms of helping her sleep, dimming her misery, and keeping her entertained…on the other…it can’t have been healthy, not now people were actually calling her up on it. She just couldn’t find the urge to stop.

“Good.” Archie replied in a faux reflection of brightness; before he made a move towards the door, he pointed his hand at her as if he held any authority at all, “Now, take that bloody test.”

“I’m not pregnant.” Deborah muttered, gripping the box between her fingers; it wasn’t as if Archie was an expert, and he can’t have been paying that much attention…she hadn’t even been paying that much attention.

“You keep telling yourself that.” Archie retorted, and this time he did make a move for the door, striding across the room and taking a hold of the knob; he didn’t open it though, as if he were clinging to the hope that Deborah might listen should he stay, “If you keep saying it, it might turn out to be true.”

“I can’t be.” Deborah replied curtly, taking a deep breath and steeling herself against anything that Archie might try to say in return; all she needed was a job, not all of this hassle, “I am unemployed, and…and soaked in alcohol, and alone, so I can’t be pregnant. It’s a ridiculous idea.”

oOoOoOo

It hadn’t been too long since they had last seen each other; this shouldn’t be too difficult. It was good news after all; once Deborah had got her head around it, the idea became appealing…more than appealing…she became attached to it, adoring it, feeling the first flickers of mottled hope since she had lost her job. It was good. Everything was awful, but this would be good.

Deborah had never felt this particular emotion before, like a hand constantly clutching at her innards, tugging and pulling at the right moments, making her want to collapse inwards whenever the idea of letting it go entered her mind. This had never been part of her plan, but _god_ she wanted it now that it was there.

It was cool outside, but Deborah had dutifully wrapped herself in a large coat, as Archie had annoyingly suggested that she do, fussing as he had been for days in that disapproving way that he had; now all that needed to be done was for the door to the small flat to open, so that she could do the right thing. As if he had been summoned, the door swung inwards, and Chris appeared in the gap left behind.

“Hello, Chris.” Deborah started before he could say a word, noting that he looked more clean shaven and neater than he had the last time she had seen him, and a tad less tired; it would be best to begin on good terms, and to keep them there, “How’ve you been?”

“Hi, Debbie…better than you by the look of it.” Chris replied, the confusion lacing his tone evident to anyone who might have been listening; he rubbed at the back of his neck, and then narrowed his eyes as he inspected her face, and her demeanour, “Have you been crying?”

“No, but I did have a minor nervous breakdown in the car before I knocked on the door.” Deborah played it off as a joke, shrugging her shoulders and feigning nonchalance; in reality, Archie’s dashboard was now home to tissues scrunched and stained with tears that she hadn’t been able to contain, “I’m better now, perfectly calm…and I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah, you said so over the phone.” Chris nodded wanly, his expression not yet clearing into understanding; that would come, and he would understand soon enough, hopefully for the best, “Come in; sit down.”

“Chris, I’m pregnant.” Deborah blurted, before she had even closed the door behind her; mercifully, it was a small flat, and Chris was already sitting in an armchair, and Deborah was lowering herself into the truncated sofa as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open, “It’s yours, so don’t give me that face.”

“Right…alright…” Chris opened and closed his mouth, his cheeks blanching as he gaped and his eyes wandered down to her stomach; Deborah couldn’t help but wind her arms around her middle, feeling a surge of protectiveness alight in her throat, as stared, “Oh…wow…as in a kid?”

“No, I thought I’d make a puppy.” Deborah scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and shaking her hair behind her ears, immediately swallowing her guilt for being snappish; it was a lot to take in, and she hadn’t quite yet settled into knowing what lay in her future, “Of course as in a kid!”

“Wow…” Chris let out a low, long held breath, and his eyes seemed to fill with wonder as he shifted to perch right on the edge of his seat, his hands gripping the cushions by his legs; this was good, he was understanding and accepting, and he wasn’t  angry or upset with her, “I…I’ve always wanted a kid.”

“I know you have.” Deborah acknowledged, nodding slowly and fidgeting with her arms around her middle; she had never wanted a child, but the idea of the one growing inside her made terrified little sparks of happiness swirl in her lungs…she couldn’t imagine how Chris was feeling…bombarded probably, “That’s why I’m telling you instead of keeping it to myself.”

“You’re keeping it then?” Chris asked hastily, nodding his head almost unconsciously as if that might impress upon her what _he_ wanted, as he clasped his hands together; there was an odd expression on his face, an uncomfortable twist of his lips, an awkward furrow of his brow, but Deborah didn’t pay that any attention.

“Yes…” Deborah replied slowly, allowing a faint smile to fade onto her lips, as the idea nestled itself into the forefront of her mind; she still wasn’t sure about how she felt, but they were definitely good feelings, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, but I can’t get rid of it.”

“You can’t keep it.” Chris spoke those words as if they were the word of a god, as if they were anywhere near the sorts of words that he should be speaking; to Deborah, they were like bullets at her ears, freezing her pleasant mood and tainting the warm cloud of anticipation, turning it into a sour fog that made even her tongue smart with offence.

“I thought that you wanted a child.” Deborah stated emotionlessly, her expression still and her body unmoving, though her arms tightened around her middle; her mind wasn’t even reeling, she just couldn’t get it to move at all, “We’ve literally _just_ had that conversation, the one where you said that you’d always wanted a child.”

“No, I do.” Chris assured her, shaking his head and extending his hands to her as if to placate her; his tone was one of stern coldness, the sort that he might have used when disciplining one of his young students, “What I mean is… _you_ can’t keep it. You can’t raise a child.”

“I don’t understand.” Deborah murmured, her tone brittle, as if she couldn’t quite get the air to eject from her lungs as it should have; he…he wanted her child, but not with her…that wasn’t what she had intended at all, she had wanted his help, not this, this wasn’t right at all.

“I’m saying that if you have this baby, I am going to fight to make sure that I have it.” Chris explained, unapologetic to a tee, determined though he had no right to be; something in his expression pinched, and suddenly Deborah didn’t find him quite so attractive any longer, “You can’t honestly think that you’re fit to raise it?”

“I…hold on, let me get this straight.” Deborah steadied herself, giving herself time to rearrange her thoughts into this new reality, the one where her hackles were raised and she wanted to run out of the door, “I’ve lost my job, for all intents and purposes I’ve lost my home, and now, having only known of its existence for a matter of minutes, you want to take my baby away from me?”

“Not away from you, I don’t want to stop you seeing it-” Chris insisted, as if he had already made up his mind and had rights as to what he was talking about; he had no rights, none at all, he was talking complete nonsense, “but I can’t let you look after it.”

“That’s not your decision-” Deborah started to argue, but she didn’t even get to finish her sentence, which only served to make her want to withdraw into herself all the more.

“You just said it was mine,” Chris interrupted, making a decisive motion with his hand; such a simple truth was like a knife to the heart, “which means that as the father, I’m going to be bringing as much legal action to the table as I can to make sure that it stays with me, in a stable and loving home.”

“Why would you do that?” Deborah demanded, shaking her head and pressing her lips into a thin line; she wasn’t crying, that was one thing that she most definitely wasn’t doing, and she wasn’t going to, “What makes you think that you can just take it away from me?”

“You are an alcoholic!” Chris snapped, his expression turning ugly as he glared at her, a heated, scorching affair, “Debbie, you are unemployed, living with your brother, and you’re an alcoholic – even if you can keep off the sauce during work hours, that’s still not a good example to set, because you do stupid and reckless things. I can’t let my child grow up in that environment.”

“I’m looking for jobs.” Deborah uttered, as if that might change his mind; it was something, she was doing something with her life. The world might have given up on her, and her peak was over, but she was doing _something_ ; she had to, because she couldn’t even face her own father until she had _something_.

“You’re a pilot.” Chris reasoned, and Deborah wanted to slap him; but that would mean reaching across the room and removing her arms from around her waist, “If you get another job, you’ll be out of the country for most of the time; that baby is better off with me. You could see it, but you shouldn’t be the one to raise it. Have you been drinking recently?”

“I stopped when I found out I was pregnant.” Deborah retorted indignantly; it was insulting, and hurtful, and she was angry and furious but she hated herself for it, like an ache in her guts that echoed on hollows that shouldn’t have been there, “I’m not an idiot.”

“Can you stay stopped?” Chris asked, his eyes boring into hers, as if he were superior, “Or are you itching for a drink now?”

“Stop it!” Deborah hissed; she swallowed hard, and continued to shake her head, as if that might remove all of this from her head, and erase Chris all together, along with the guilt that she felt for involving him at all in her child’s life, when it wasn’t even born yet, “You can’t do this – I’m not letting you take my baby.”

“You might not have a choice.” Chris told her, siting back as if the matter were final; his eyes were still flickering to her abdomen, as if he were in awe, but he made an effort to meet her gaze with severity, “I’d rather talk it over nicely with you, but if you won’t cooperate, I’ll have to get lawyers, and go to court; you are not fit to look after a child, Debbie, and if you try, it won’t be safe.”

“I’m leaving.” Deborah surged to her feet and tugged her coat around her; she needed to get out, immediately, “I don’t have to listen to this, I’m leaving. If you want to send lawyers, then send them; it won’t change a thing. You’re not taking my baby away from me.”

oOoOoOo

“She’s a perfectly healthy baby girl.” The doctor was explaining, glancing over the charts that were in her hands, peering at her from across the desk; she didn’t insist that Deborah pay her any attention, “You on the other hand, I’m worried about; you’re showing extreme signs of stress. Is everything alright at home?”

Deborah was listening, but only just; far more important was the picture in her hands, the small image of her daughter, as an actual shape, a real _thing_ that wasn’t just a fidgeting and growing bump at her abdomen, that made her chest alight with warmth, a heat tainted only by the watery dread that had been following her like a cloud at her shoulder.

“The father’s dragging me through all sorts of legal proceedings, and trying to get me to talk to social workers, because he doesn’t want me to have the baby.” Deborah muttered, taking her eyes from the image for only a second to take in the calm and professional expression on the other woman’s face, “Add to that the job hunt, and moving into a new flat…you could say that I’m a bit stressed.”

“I’ll be sure to make a note of that.” The doctor remarked, scribbling something down in her notebook, “If the social workers become a strain, then be sure to give them my number, and I’ll advise them that bothering you can’t be good for the baby, or for Mum.”

“Thank you.” Deborah replied; then she swallowed her nerves, tucked the picture into her pocket, and forced herself to ask the question that had been gnawing at her heart for a week, barely allowing her a moment’s peace, “Do you…you know how some doctors, they say that a glass of wine every now and again can’t hurt the baby?” the doctor nodded, but allowed Deborah to keep talking, her patience a sublime light in what had been a dark few months, “Because I…I have problems, with alcohol. I’d stopped, when I found out about the baby, but …the other day, I…I don’t know what happened. I was feeling terrible, and I wanted to cry, and the next thing I knew I was downing a vodka to stop my nerves.”

“I see.” The doctor nodded, but there was nothing in her tone to suggest that Deborah should be feeling the intense self-loathing that she had been; there was no judgement, none at all, “Then what happened?”

“I only drank half of it, and then poured it down the sink.” Deborah admitted, her voice faltering as she spoke; it had been that moment, a shard of disgust at herself, that had made it clear that she had a serious problem, and that she needed to stop drinking, immediately, and forever, “I haven’t touched anything since…I was afraid that I’d done something awful to the baby.”

“Well you haven’t, so I wouldn’t worry any longer.” The doctor reassured her, gently, as if she saw this sort of thing all the time; it helped, and Deborah watched her with wide eyes, arms wrapped around her chest, “You should be proud of yourself actually, that you managed to stop. Going cold turkey, but I promise that once you’ve been through a few months sober, and then a few years, it’ll be like a new lease of life.”

“Alright.” Deborah sighed, and then exhaled shakily, feeling for the first time in months as if she could breathe, and an iron ring was removed from her lungs; she rose to her feet without warning, sluggishly, but up nonetheless, unable to stay much longer without risking bursting into tears, “Thank you…I’m going to go now.”

oOoOoOo

If she could freeze time, then that would have been good, because it would mean freezing out the awful churning in her guts and leaving behind only the beautiful singing, soaring warmth in her chest, that felt like all the strings in her heart being pulled and ringing at that one tone forever. Then again, everyone had left Deborah alone in her room, so perhaps the world was on her side for once.

Her daughter was beautiful…everyone said that, but Deborah knew that she was absolutely right when she thought it. She didn’t even think it, she just knew, and _felt_ it; the tiny, squirming, pink little mass in her arms, that curled into her chest and picked clenched its miniscule hands around strands of her hair…she was perfect, and Deborah could sit like this forever, her knees pulled up so that her baby girl was tucked between her arms and her chest, her tiny arms and legs wriggling as her lips moved and unintelligible murmurs escaped, and her blue eyes were already on the brink of turning and blinking aimlessly, washing over her mother’s eyes…

Deborah stared at into her baby’s eyes, and she didn’t know what the aching she felt was, but she was certain that it was complete and utter love for the tiny person that she wanted to cuddle and hold like china, and just kiss her faintly fluffy top of her head and pretend that she was the only thing in the whole world.

And she hated herself…somehow, Deborah managed to be completely in love, and unable to breath…and she wanted to cry, because she had no idea what to do with her, and the only rational thought to enter her head was the one telling her to have a drink, calm her nerves, and block out everything except her daughter. So she murmured unintelligible things back, maybe singing, maybe telling her that she loved her, maybe apologising…Deborah had no idea, but she hoped that her voice lingered in her baby’s ears forever.

And then everything shattered… _everything_ …even Deborah’s muddled cushion of madness, when Chris entered the room, and strode to the side of the bed; suddenly all of her thoughts slotted into place, and she knew exactly what needed to happen…that didn’t stop Deborah from pulling her arms a little tighter, tucking her daughter closer to her chest, closer to her lips, as Chris tried to gaze at her in wonder, or amazement, or whatever he was feeling that Deborah didn’t care about.

Deborah knew exactly what needed to be done…because even though she loved her baby girl so much that it hurt, and she never wanted to stop holding her daughter…Deborah didn’t feel like a mother, not even a little bit, not when a part of her mind was on _alcohol_ , and she had had so little faith in her ability to win against Chris that she hadn’t even bought provisions for the baby, no bedding, no bottles, no clothes…Chris had done that, she hadn’t bothered, because she had known that _no one,_ not even herself, thought that she was fit to be a _mother_.

“I don’t want to do the legal bit.” Deborah muttered, refusing to take her eyes from the idly blinking one’s of her daughter, just loud enough that Chris would hear it in the otherwise quiet hospital room; the whole place was practically built to provide echoes.

“What?” Chris exhaled so sharply that it might not even have been a word at all; he sounded shocked. Deborah couldn’t even feel proud of that, that she had surprised him after so long arguing.

“Send the lawyers and social workers away.” Deborah instructed him, still not lifting her eyes; she didn’t even have the energy to raise herself into bitterness, or to lift her voice into more than a brittle whisper, “I’m willing to talk with you, but I don’t want them involved.”

“Oh…okay then, just a moment.” Chris replied, and a moment later Deborah heard his footsteps fading away; in the seconds that he was gone, Deborah gasped and shuddered, breathing in and out, holding back tears, before stilling, and smiling, and cooing at her daughter, until the footsteps returned and the shadow fell across the bed.

“I’ve named her.” Deborah announced faintly, before Chris could say anything more; it hadn’t been conscious spite…the nurse had arrived with paperwork and asked her if she had a name…and Deborah had said yes, yes she does.

“I’m sorry?” Chris blurted; she imagined that he was staring at her with eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitted. But he was too stunned by the sight of the baby to be anything more than confused.

“I’ve named her.” Deborah repeated, sniffling and hugging the baby closer, brushing the tips of their noses together, while her daughter garbled; she was vaguely aware of sounding dull and detached, but she couldn’t help it, “I figured that if you were taking her away from me, then I should get to name her.”

“I suppose –Debbie, I’m not-” Chris tried to argue something, possibly one of the same lines that he had been feeding her for months; it wasn’t worth the air that he used, not now that he had won.

“Verity.” Deborah stated, no nonsense; these were the facts, and that was what her daughter was called, whether Chris liked it or not, “She’s called Verity. Verity Rose…”

“That’s beautiful.” Chris remarked, and Deborah couldn’t be pleased or disappointed with that reaction; it was true, and Verity was beautiful, but she could only hate him for taking her away, as if she were holding an absence already, “Verity Rose Chalmers…”

“Yes.” Deborah agreed weakly; it was done now, everything was sorted out; now she just had to make her excuses, stop herself from becoming hysterical, stop herself from shaking and stammering and spilling out everything that ran through her head, “I want a few more hours with her before you take her away…you’ve talked me round, that’s the best decision…I’m not fit to look after her…even now I’m itching for a drink.”

“I’m not just taking her Debbie.” Chris insisted, a flash of irritation colouring his tone; even that wasn’t enough to get Deborah to lift her gaze, as she focused on the warmth of Verity’s skin against the flesh of her arms, “I know that she needs her Mum for a while, and I’m not cruel.”

“Then what was the plan?” Deborah inquired, biting her tongue to prevent herself from snapping at him; she didn’t want to hear, but she had to, she couldn’t just let go, “What was it that your lawyers were scheming amongst themselves?”

“I thought that for the first two months, you could see her once a week.” Chris suggested, and Deborah knew that on a normal day, she might have scoffed or cursed at him; she couldn’t imagine only seeing her daughter once a week, in such a regimented fashion, not when she was here and she was real, “That way she sees her Mum and gets used to you, and both of us are an influence right at the start.”

“And then what?” Deborah sniffled; her throat was beginning to ache and burn with the effort it took to stop from crying.

“And then you get to see her regularly,” Chris replied, as if that were obvious, and he were being a reasonable adult; it was for the best after all, “depending on what is best for her, what you’re doing and what your job situation is-”

“So it could be months between each visit.” Deborah rasped, shaking her head, but refusing to bow to the hot prickling at her eyes; her baby was happy, and she was quiet, and she couldn’t see her mummy crying.

“Maybe later on, when she’s at school and hopefully when you’re at work.” Chris suggested, as if he had been planning ahead, and working this all out with his lawyers; they were all just words, “And, maybe at the start – passing her around and having lots of people in the house won’t be good for her.”

“I’m not people,” Deborah murmured miserably, barely loud enough for anyone to hear; she traced her fingers along Verity’s tiny hand, to where it was clamped around her hair, and stroked her little fingers, aching to kiss them all and hold onto her, “I’m her mother.”

“Honestly, Debbie, think about it.” Chris groaned, his clothes rustling as if he were running his hands through his hair and shaking his head in despair, “If you could take her home today, would you even know what to do with her?”

Deborah didn’t say a word, and Chris took it for what it was…acceptance of the fact that Deborah was incapable, at this thing at least, and that she had lost.

“I didn’t think so.” Chris muttered; after a moment, he cleared his throat, but Deborah still didn’t look at him, “I’m going to go now, and you can have her for the night…but in the morning, if you’re ready to leave, then I’ll be here with a car seat and little clothes and things. I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

oOoOoOo

Deborah couldn’t sleep. It was dark outside the windows, and Verity was fast asleep in the tiny plastic beds that the midwives had stationed beside her own raised mattress…and Deborah couldn’t sleep. He mind was running on empty, but it wouldn’t stop; it was as if she were being punished for every stupid thing that she had ever done.

With nothing else to do, Deborah reached down to the bag that had been left on the chair beside the bed; there were books and clothes, but it was her phone that she chose. Something new and shiny, courtesy of Archie, for her to look over, to help her when she was looking for jobs, and still capable of performing them. She supposed that now she was no longer pregnant, she was perfectly capable of flying again.

Deborah waited for the cheap display to flash up, black and grey, with little hope of anything happening, but needing something to look at. Numb…that was the word writers always used when bad things happened…she was starting to understand.

But then…there it was…that little symbol in the corner of the screen…like a scrap of an electric shock, contained in the cold plastic block that she held in her hand. Someone had tried to call her at some point during the day, when she had been having the baby. It couldn’t be a friend, Deborah had lost all of those…the only people that had her number…were the employers that she had contacted.

Hastily, taking a long moment to stare at her daughter, Deborah pressed her phone to her ear, and called the number that would unlock the message left behind; this was hope, for Verity, something that she could give her daughter something…this was an awakening, and she didn’t care if she shouldn’t have her phone on in the hospital, Deborah was going to hear this, or give up hope forever.

The dial tone ended, and was replaced by the stilted computerised voice, that declared she had a message…and then another voice took its place.

“ _Hello, Ms Richardson.”_ The voice of a woman, reasonably old by the sound of it, but sharp and strong, and the sort that bore no nonsense rang in Deborah’s ear, and she could only grip the device in both hands and pray, _“This is Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, the CEO of MJN Air, calling in response to the interest you showed in our advertisement for new pilots. I have looked over your CV, and am willing to see you in an interview, to assess your suitability for the role. You applied for the job, so I’m assuming you’ve got my details – if not, the internet exists for a reason. Do get back in contact and book an interview with me, as your application did seem very promising.”_

The message ended, and Deborah lowered the phone from her ear and onto her lap; she looked again to Verity. Barely a thought passed through her mind before she was dialling the number back…this was a job, someone wanted her, she needed this. Typically, she reached the answer phone; of course she did, it was the middle of the night…this was too big though, she had to leave a message.

“Hello.” Deborah’s voice was shaking, but she managed to steady it, as she looked to Verity and reminded herself why this was important; a ray of hope, that was how she had to look at this, a ray of hope, “This is Deborah Richardson…sorry, my phone was off when you made the call earlier. I would be thrilled to attend an interview. Whenever you’re free is good for me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Today was the day. The interview with MJN had been postponed for a few months, apparently due to financial and legal hitches that Ms Knapp-Shappey, but that turned out to be a stroke of luck.

Two months were all that it took for Deborah to abstain from alcohol completely, although she still ached for it when she was left alone for too long; two months were long enough that she could sort out her finances in preparation for a move to Fitton, should she get the job. Two months were all the time that Deborah had with her daughter, her weekly visits cut off the moment that the allocated time had passed; even more reason to gird her loins, grit her teeth, and score herself a decent job.

Deborah knew that if she ended up at MJN, she would live further away from Verity than she did when she was staying with Archie, and that she would probably be out of the country for far too often to see her baby regularly…but if she did well, and proved that she was good enough, the time they got together would be worth the long absences.

She could do this. Deborah knew that she could do this. Without the steady stream of booze in her system, the underlying hum that had punctuated her psyche for years…she felt fresh, her mind was clear, and for once she felt like herself. Her throat still stung every now and then, and her fingers itched to clench around a glass, but somehow, Deborah found her charming wit settling comfortably at the back of her mind, and the subtle ease of her cosy habits becoming that little bit less forced.

For the first time in a long time, Deborah Richardson felt like…Deborah Richardson…not tampered with, or edited, or projected through a haze. It was easier to hope when the only pretending that she was doing was to suck up her dejection and plaster on a confident smile.

So today was the day, and Deborah was prepared. She had booked a room in the biggest hotel that Fitton had to offer, which in fairness, wasn’t that big at all, and she was dressed in a suit that wasn’t too smart, but was impressive enough that her potential employer would see that she meant business. Deborah was half way through swinging her handbag over her shoulder, and slipping on her shoes, when her phone rang.

Huffing as she dropped her bag onto the bed, Deborah retrieved her phone from within its folds and jammed the cold plastic against her ear; she didn’t have time for this, not today of all days.

“ _Debbie – do you have long_?” Archie’s voice filtered through the phone and met her ear with an unwelcome strain; he knew that she had an interview in an hour, and she had _told_ him not to bother her until the end.

“I’m literally about to walk through the door.” Deborah informed him caustically, wandering over to the window, pulling back the curtain and avoiding touching the thin veneer of grease on the glass; there was something off about his tone, but in a fit of pique, she almost hoped that he was having a hard day just for interrupting hers, “What do you want?”

 _“I’m sorry, I know you’ve got your interview today_.” Archie apologised, and for once in his life he sounded as if he actually meant it, his words coming out too quickly for his usual slow drawl, practically tumbling over one another; that did give Deborah pause, as she turned away from the grim view through the window and stepped slowly back to the bed, “ _I just…I sort of panicked, and now I’m talking to you, and I-_ ”

“What are you going on about?” Deborah interrupted, narrowing her eyes into the middle distance; something was wrong, a fact that was more evident in Archie’s unusual burst of honesty than the tone of his voice, “You don’t panic.”

“ _Something’s happened…_ ” Archie replied, his voice shaking now, bewilderingly so; for a man that was normally so straightforward, it was almost harrowing, and all thoughts of her interview left Deborah’s mind, “ _Debbie, I know I should have waited, but…I couldn’t_.”

“What’s happened?” Deborah demanded, folding her free arm around her chest to try and placate the grim claws that seemed to have looped around her lungs, making the air stagnate; when no answer came, only an odd sniffling sound, she couldn’t help herself, and snapped at him, “Archie, what has happened?”

“ _Dad…_ ” Archie uttered, finally, his voice wavering and shaking and eventually breaking down, “ _Dad died._ ”

Something about the way that he said it, something about the tangible ache and tremble that shivered through the phone made Archie sound younger than Deborah had ever perceived him to be; he sounded like a child…like Deborah had when she had been told that Mum was gone.

For the first time in her life, for one blinding moment, Deborah was hit by the realisation that Archie was her brother, and not just some overly familiar babysitter that her parents would shaft her off on every now and again…Archie had always been a ‘grown up’, but somehow, listening to him drag in a deep, shuddering breath against her ear, Deborah realised that they were the same, on the same level…that her brother was no more a grown up than she was.

For the first time in her life she wanted to do something to make _him_ feel better.

Then the meaning of what he had actually said crushed every ounce of concern, and any sensation that she might have been feeling, any clenching, or humming, or lumps in her throat, all of it disappeared.

“What?” Deborah scoffed, but she didn’t know why she was scoffing; she was shaking her head, trying to relieve the cotton wool that was blurring her vision and her hearing, stifling her thought processes, “No…I was speaking to him over the weekend, he’s not dead.”

“ _He had some sort of kidney failure, or…some internal thing that I don’t understand_.” Archie explained, though Deborah heard it as if through a tunnel, echoing and incorrect, “ _He was with some old woman that I think he’s been sleeping with, so I’m not sure what went on, I just got a call asking me to come to the hospital_.”

“B-but…I…no…No, I don’t understand.” Deborah muttered, shaking her head more vigorously; she was peripherally aware of the way her chest gasped in and out, almost robotically, “Why is he…that doesn’t make any sense.”

It didn’t make any sense. It was as if she couldn’t place the idea of death, or of Dad, or of anything much at all. Dad was always there; they didn’t necessarily speak often, but he was always there in her mind, sitting in his armchair, far more whitened and wrinkled and immobile in reality than he was in her memories. Deborah hadn’t even noticed that happened, so when she heard his voice on the phone, it always gave her a jolt when it was the voice of an old man…she hadn’t been paying attention. But he was always there.

There was no Debbie without Dad hanging around in the background, needling her about doing something worthwhile with her life, encouraging her and pretending that nothing was wrong, dusting off her grandparents’ RAF memorabilia.

“ _I know, he never said anything_.” Archie was talking again, and Deborah was only just hearing it; it made her tongue smart as if her mouth couldn’t bear to respond, “ _But he must have been ill a long time and just…omitted to telling us. He was…he was still there when I arrived, but then he wasn’t and I…I shouldn’t have called you this early I know-_ ”

“Shut up…stop it…” Deborah couldn’t listen to him anymore, and she didn’t realise that she was sitting until the lumpy mattress clipped the back of her knees; it was too cold, her sin felt as if it were erupting into goose-bumps while her head stuttered to a halt in an attempt to work out how to erase the sickly essence in her throat, “Archie…what…I don’t understand, what am I…”

“ _You’re not supposed to do anything_.” Archie cut her off, almost speaking over her; he must have had it all planned, “ _Just…just go to your interview, and do really well, and I’ll, I’ll drive up there tonight._ ”

“The hotel’s only booked for tonight.” Deborah replied dully, staring at her knees, and her hand where it clenched around one of them, barely feeling it; part of her knew that that was a redundant point, but it was also the only thing that she could think to focus on.

“ _I’ll book another room_.” Archie assured her, efficient as usual; of course he had everything worked out; Archie would try and take care of everything even if he did a terrible job, “ _It’s fine, Debbie; I’ll drive up there, and we can talk properly then, but now, just go to your interview._ ”

“Archie!” Deborah exclaimed weakly, holding the phone against her cheek so hard that it should have hurt; her _interview_ …how was she supposed to…she had no idea what to do, she couldn’t even… “What am I supposed to…what am I supposed to do with this? I-I…”

 _“Nothing, just take a few deep breaths and charm your way through_.” Archie instructed; any other day, and she’d have been thrilled at how sincere he sounded, “ _You’ll be amazing, I know…I…I’m sorry, Debbie, I am, I just didn’t know what else to do, and I panicked_.”

“Yeah…yes, alright.” Deborah nodded wanly, and closed her eyes; she inhaled deeply, and calmed herself, mostly by pretending that her mind wasn’t reeling and that the absence in her guts was a symptom of relaxed confidence, “Goodbye.”

Then she hung up without waiting for a response, and dropped the phone onto the bed. Deborah dropped her head down and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes, relishing for a moment how the sting drove away everything else. But she couldn’t stay there. She had an interview to attend.

oOoOoOo

Fitton airfield was relatively easy to navigate, and the security was lacklustre at best; Deborah’s taxi had barely been glanced at when she had entered. If she had her own car, Deborah would have stayed behind the wheel upon parking up and let the moment sink in, taken a moment to consider her dad, or what was left of him…as it was, she paid the driver, nodded politely, and sucked up her nerves as she walked confidently to the porta-cabin that she had been advised she visit.

She had known that it was only a small airline, just starting up, hence the need for new employees, so Deborah wasn’t surprised to see that the buildings were economically sound instead of grand, and that upon passing through the door, she was met with an empty room that was simultaneously sparsely furnished and homely, in the sense that two coats were flung over empty desks and chairs were pulled out and arranged as if there had been recent chats taking place.

“Hello?” Deborah called out as she closed the door behind her and stepped tentatively into the room; there was another room off to the side, door slightly ajar, so she assumed that there might be someone around, considering that she was actually late, “Am I right in thinking that this _is_ the MJN headquarters?”

“Oh, hello!” the door burst open, and in its place there stood a young man who couldn’t have been older than twenty, beaming at her as if she were the most wonderful thing that he had ever seen; we was dressed in what might have been professional garb, with a startlingly red shirt and loose waistcoat, and as he strode towards Deborah, he pushed a hand through his dark brown hair that fell in fairly neat flops around his head while his brown eyes shone, “Hi, I’m Arthur – I mean, hello, I am Arthur Shappey, head steward on board the aeroplane today…or later, when I’m actually on the aeroplane.”

“Head steward?” Deborah inquired politely, smiling faintly as Arthur came to stand at her side, his thumbs hooked into his pockets as his eyes wandered unassumingly over her, as if he were taking her in; somehow, despite everything else that was pouring through her head at a hundred miles an hour, the mere essence of having someone be so _pleased_ to see her…it was like being bathed in a ray of sunshine, and she couldn’t help but take to the young man immediately, “You’re in charge of the other stewards then?”

“No, I’m the only steward except for when I’m not.” Arthur replied brightly, rocking on his heels, apparently completely unconcerned by this fact, even as Deborah furrowed her brow, caught off guard by his openness.

Now that she really gave him the once over, he was like his own miniature sun, gangly and almost a foot taller than her, but youthful and shiny and apparently unaffected by the weight of the world that seemed to linger in the air for every other member of the human race; it was…charming actually, and refreshing to meet someone whose eyes held nothing but baseless honesty.

“I _see_.” Deborah drawled, nodding idly as she took her eyes from him to glance around the room again, in search of a CEO that was as yet just a voice in her head; she was already beginning to feel as if pretending that everything was okay would be far easier than she had thought…it was hard not to be buoyed when someone was practically buzzing with energy a mere foot away from you.

“Are you the pilot that Mum’s interviewing today?” Arthur asked, drawing Deborah away from her musings; it seemed that for now, for all of his smiles and thrilled gazes, his sole purpose was to lure Deborah away from the darker thoughts that were rotting in the back of her mind.

“Yes, hello…” Deborah answered wanly, nodding distractedly; then she remembered her manners, and that she was supposed to be making a good impression, and extended her hand to him, “Deborah Richardson. Pleased to meet you.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, taking her hand and squeezing tightly, shaking it with both of his as if he were meeting the leader of a small country; Deborah had to waggle and click her fingers when she was allowed them back, but he didn’t notice as he continued to speak without a care, “I’ve been trying to imagine what a proper pilot would look like for MJN, but none of the people Mum’s interviewed so far have looked right, but you absolutely do.”

“Thank you…” Deborah replied, wrapping her arms around her middle, trying not to think that she didn’t deserve the unabashed confidence that she was being shown after only moments of acquaintance; then she twigged something that Arthur had said, and narrowed her eyes at him, “Mum?”

“Yeah, she’s in charge.” Arthur replied, as if she should have known that already; he nodded towards the room that he had appeared from only moments before, “She owns GERTI, that’s the plane, and all of the company. She’s the one interviewing you.”

“Oh, Ms Knapp-Shappey.” Deborah remarked, nodding in understanding; this was good actually, a nice conversation to keep her mind from things, and to help her get her bearings before the actual interviewing began, “So it’s a family business then?”

“Sort of.” Arthur shrugged, and although she didn’t know him, Deborah thought that the way he pursed his lips and glanced down at the floor, scuffing his toes, was a bit out of sorts with the grinning, glowing person that she had been speaking to, “Dad used to own all of it, but Mum’s been running it for four years already, only now she’s won the plane in the divorce, it’s hers, and she can run it however she likes, and I’m allowed to help.”

“Wow…I must say, I’m impressed.” Deborah remarked, deciding that now was the best time to employ her charm; a little innocent flattery never did any harm, not when trying to make an impression, “Your life already sounds far more interesting than mine does.”

“Naw, it’s not that impressive; I mean, it’s brilliant, obviously, but not more brilliant than yours, I’m sure.” Arthur brushed off her praise and shrugged his shoulders, and smiled warmly once again; then his eyes went wide, and he made as if to move towards a counter that Deborah now saw held a sink and a few kitchen utensils, “I almost forgot – would you like tea, or a coffee? Or I can make anything really, but I’m supposed to be practicing teas and coffees for when I have to do it every day.”

“A coffee would be nice actually.” Deborah requested, sighing as he whirled around and hurried to fulfil his duties, clinking the mugs together and knocking something over; she had meant to get a coffee on the way, but…she had completely forgotten with everything else that was going on, “Thank you, Arthur.”

“No problem.” Arthur chirped from over his shoulder, still clattering about eagerly; he might have even been bouncing on his heels, far happier to be making drinks than anyone ever should be, “Milk and sugar?”

“A bit of everything if you’ve got it.” Deborah muttered, taking the opportunity, as his back was turned, to press her fingertips over her eyes and enjoy the lack of visual stimulation; so long as she maintained a self-confident composure, then everything was going to be okay, “Go mad…I could use it.”

“Brilliant.” She heard Arthur remark from by the counter; she didn’t realise that he had returned until she felt his arm brush against hers, and she opened her eyes, receiving the steaming mug of coffee from him, noting uncomfortably that he leaned down ever so slightly to meet her gaze with real concern in his eyes, “Are you alright? There’s no need to be worried, or shy.”

“Believe me, I’m hardly _shy_.” Deborah scoffed wanly, grimacing in the stead of a smile; she took a sip of coffee, and had to force herself to continue grimacing in the hope that she looked grateful…it could have used some work, “I…it’s been a long couple of weeks, I’m…tired, that’s all. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur beamed, hooking his hands together behind his back; then, continuing to hover just out of reach, he said more seriously, as if he were trying to helpful, “I don’t think it’s going to be hard.”

“What won’t be?” Deborah asked, blinking up at him; for all that Arthur seemed…overly cheerful, his mind leapt from one thing another…or perhaps it was hers that was moving too slowly, today of all days.

“The interview.” Arthur amended matter-of-factly, “Mum may seem a bit…well a bit…but she’s alright really, and she’ll know that you’re nervous, or tired. She’s been getting a bit impatient with all the rubbish people we’ve had so far, so she wouldn’t have called you in if she didn’t think you were good enough.”

“Well, that’s comforting I suppose.” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows for the lack of anything else to say; if nothing else, desperation on the side of her interviewer would make it far easier to secure the job.

“Yep.” Arthur nodded; before the air even had time to settle between them, he was launching into another line of inquiry, apparently incapable of just sitting in silence and giving her the time to calm herself before the impending interrogation, “So, have you been a pilot for a long time?”

“Since I was about eighteen.” Deborah answered, smirking slightly as she remembered the thrilled self-satisfaction of earning her licence; back when she had been unstoppable, and had been so hazy that she thought being the best made her invincible…she was still the best, but now far more aware of her own fallibility, “Some might call that a long time.”

“Is it fun?” Arthur inquired; he blinked at her expectantly, and it occurred to Deborah that this wasn’t polite conversation. Arthur actually cared about the answer…which was strange, but pleasant, in a way.

“What, being a pilot?” Deborah clarified nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders and pulling her arms a little tighter around her chest, ignoring how awkward it made the angle of her bag against her shoulder, “Yes, I suppose it is. You get to fly off to faraway places, wear attractive uniforms, meet interesting people…it’s great. Why? Are you thinking of giving it a go yourself?”

“No, I like being a steward.” Arthur shook his head and waved a hand over his attire, which Deborah was now sure was a uniform of sorts, “Besides, if I did go and become a pilot, I wouldn’t get to hang out with two other pilots while they do all the flying, or talk to passengers.”

“Has your mother hired another pilot?” Deborah asked, turning so that she was facing Arthur head on, all the better to engage him further; this was more important than idle chatter about herself. The charter airline was far different from the commercial airline; whereas at Air England she had barely seen the same pilots twice, only if she was very lucky, if Deborah signed onto MJN, she would be working with the same person every day…if they were awful, she didn’t think she could cope, no matter how capable she was at handling the rude and revolting.

“She wants to, because apparently we need two for longer flights, but she hasn’t yet.” Arthur explained, and he sounded almost regretful at the idea of losing so many potential colleagues; then he met Deborah’s gaze and said with such brutal honesty, though he must not have realised what it meant to her, “We really need you, otherwise we can’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint.” Deborah promised, her voice soft as she held Arthur’s gaze and let a genuine smile slip unbidden onto her lips; it had been a very, _very_ long time since anyone had _needed_ her…even if this was a terrible job, with terrible money, she  knew then that she would take it, just for that sense of appreciation.

The warm smile hardly had time to settle on Arthur’s cheeks before the main door swung open, and an older woman in a smart suit, probably in her mid-fifties, with whitened but perfectly coiffed hair and exhausted wrinkles that clashed with the determined and unapologetic set of her shoulders and the force of her stride. A woman not to be messed with; Deborah could tell immediately that though leading a business in a male dominated industry, she didn’t give a damn…she had probably never pretended to be ‘cool’ with disrespect like _she_ had done once upon a time.

“Ah, Miss Richardson is it?” the woman announced herself, and strode to stand before Deborah, her sharp eyes wandering over her form before flickering back to the clipboard that she held in her hand; there was no mention of how late they both were.

“Yes, hello.” Deborah drawled, exuding all of the charm that she had at her disposal; she extended a hand out towards the other woman and smiled her most attractive smile, one that had won over even the hardest of hearts before, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, yes, good, pleased to meet you.” The woman replied flippantly, batting a hand through the air and making no effort to take Deborah’s; it became apparent very quickly that perhaps her charm wasn’t going to work in this particular situation, “Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, CEO of MJN…call me Carolyn. If you’d step this way…”

“Of course, thank you.” Deborah nodded quickly, and did as she was told, following the path of Carolyn’s hand as she gestured towards the adjoining room that Arthur had originally appeared from; she wasn’t immediately followed, but that was to be expected.

“Oh, don’t thank me, I’m about to grill you to within an inch of your life.” Carolyn muttered just as Deborah pulled the door open and entered the small yet cluttered office, which was lined with folders in serious need of a filing cabinet; Deborah took a seat on the nearest side of the desk, and listened to Carolyn say from the other room, “Arthur, tongue back in mouth, jaw closed.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Arthur whined; in all fairness, Deborah hadn’t noticed him staring, and if he had been, it had been innocent, friendly staring, accompanied by nothing but manners…or maybe she was simply oblivious to anything but the interview, her efforts focused onto one thing by Archie’s phone call, “She’s really nice, you should hire her.”

“We’ll see.” Carolyn could be heard replying; Deborah made an effort not to look as if she had been eavesdropping when the door to the office opened and then clicked shut, and Carolyn wandered around to sit at her side of the desk, fixing her with a gaze akin to that of a hawk awaiting its swoop upon a lamb wandering lost on the moors, “I see you’ve met Arthur…yet you’re still here, so at the very least you’re made of stern stuff.”

“Your son’s quite nice actually.” Deborah offered, hoping that this might act as a good way to clear the waters between them; she couldn’t quite get comfortable, but settled for elegantly crossing one leg over the other, and clasping her hands around her coffee, holding the mug over her lap, “Quite refreshing.”

“You’ve never heard him expound upon any kind of subject; believe me, it’s tiring.” Carolyn sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation; she barely even looked at Deborah as she spoke, instead arranging the papers of her desk, only glancing up at the end of her sentence, “I’m not surprised he’s on his best behaviour though; I can’t remember the last time he spoke to a woman over the age of eighteen, reckon it’s something of a novelty for him.”

“No worries…he’s…sweet.” Deborah replied uncertainly; she wasn’t sure why, but she actually felt a tad insulted at the way that Carolyn was talking about her son; perhaps it was that he had been the first person in weeks, months probably, to actually show her any kindness without expecting anything in return, “Friendly…he made me coffee.”

“Good…well, that’s the first test passed.” Carolyn replied slowly, an odd, devious sort of curl creeping over his lips; the light in her eyes was unnerving, but Deborah couldn’t help but feel as if this was different than the way that her previous bosses had looked at her…there was no contempt, this simply seemed to be a facet of this woman’s personality, in as much as Arthur was an almost literal ray of sunshine, “You’d be surprised how many people can’t put up with him.”

“Oh…” Deborah couldn’t find much else to say. Even though she was sure that she had just done well, something in her stomach clenched, and a lump formed in her throat; she had known that she would be nervous, but today…oh god, she didn’t know how she was going to cope if Carolyn pulled any more sneaky tricks on her, she couldn’t even think straight.

Maybe she should have become the sort of person that made cue-cards. No…she needed a friend that made cue-cards, and then she’d leech off of them…hell, she needed a friend…that wasn’t helping.

“Right, onto business.” Carolyn declared, slapping a formal looking folder down in front of her and tapping a pen that she retrieved from somewhere against it; Deborah needed to pay more attention, because now Carolyn was reeling off a list of things in a no nonsense tone of voice, “Your CV is good, very impressive, and the references that you _do_ have all speak very highly of your _talents_.”

“That’s good.” Deborah replied shortly; there was no doubt that she was more than qualified.

“Only your talents; there’s very little here about you as a person.” Carolyn amended, eyeing Deborah as if she were planning the best way to gut her like a fish; Deborah wouldn’t normally have cared, but she was desperate for her not to see what a pathetic waste she had become, “I imagine, because of this dismissal from Air England…do tell me, how does one get themselves fired from the biggest airline in England?”

“I can assure you that just as my CV suggests,” Deborah explained curtly and professionally, just as Dad had been telling her the last time they had spoken; ‘don’t blow your own trumpet’, and ‘only tell them the good bits, all of the good bits, but try not to sound too proud of them’…she could present herself as fact rather than opinion, that was easy, “I more than capable, in fact highly skilled at both flying and managing an aircraft. I was Captain for-”

“I’d like to know why you were dismissed.” Carolyn repeated, her glare becoming more pronounced as the tapping of her pen ceased; this was the moment that could ruin everything.

“It was a lapse in judgement.” Deborah spoke calmly and clearly, as if it were no matter; she shouldn’t have been talking about this at all, but she couldn’t avoid a direct demand…not obviously, “I was…transporting some items, completely legal items, to a friend, and the authorities got the wrong end of the stick.”

“And again without the prevarication.” Carolyn sighed, rolling her eyes; it was clear then that for all that she was intimidating, she was definitely the mother of the young man in the other room. Deborah could just imagine her sighing and rolling her eyes as she tried to get Arthur to answer simple questions while he rambled.

“I was caught smuggling kimonos across the border in my jacket.” Deborah retorted, huffing and placing her mug on the floor so that she could fold her arms over her chest and pout indignantly; it wasn’t _her_ fault she’d been sacked, and she wasn’t going to pretend to be ashamed of something so ridiculous, “It’s not illegal, just highly frowned upon – they hated me anyway, that wasn’t even a sackable offence.”

“What you’re saying is that you have a highly inflated ego and that your peers took ample revenge?” Carolyn inquired, nodding slowly and noting something down in her file; if Deborah wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn that the lines on her face eased somewhat around the corners of her lips.

“Something like that.” Deborah muttered, dropping her eyes so that she could stare instead at her knee; now that she thought about it, her ego was something that people weren’t supposed to discover until long after they were in too deep to reject her, not now that she was off the booze.

“Well, I can promise you now that personality is the least of my worries.” Carolyn assured her, batting her hand through the air and reading once again from the opposite page of her file, which Deborah assumed held her CV, “You’re perfectly skilled, so you can be as big headed as you like so long as you do as you’re told.”

“What sort of thing would you be telling me?” Deborah inquired, quirking her eyebrows at the surprise that washed fleetingly over Carolyn’s expression; now that the cat was out of the bag, there was no point hiding the fact that she was big-headed and sarcastic. All it meant was that if she was hired, there would be no need to spend weeks pretending to be perfectly behaved.

“Fly the plane. Fill out these forms. Go here, move there.” Carolyn made round about motions with her hand; she made it very clear that unlike some of Deborah’s previous employers, she didn’t go in for lying and saying things that they didn’t mean, “What are you expecting? For me to demand that you dance the tarantella and sell me your third born child?”

“It wouldn’t be far off what Air England wanted.” Deborah muttered, clenching her hands around the material at her elbows; this wasn’t going well, and she so needed it to, more than anything. Dad wanted her to, and she needed to prove that she was responsible enough to look after her daughter, but this wasn’t going well at all.

“Well, this is not Air England, and my standards are different.” Carolyn replied curtly, her shoulders stiffening as she surveyed Deborah with one sweeping glare; now she was annoyed, fantastic, “Not lower, merely different. Now, convince me that I should hire you.”

“I’m the best and most skilled person for the job.” Deborah answered truthfully, carefully, taking care not to let her pride ring too loudly as she placed both feet on the ground and rested her hands on her knees; this woman couldn’t be charmed, so there wasn’t going to be any winning on the basis of her personality.

“I know that.” Carolyn retorted sternly; oh…she was annoyed, and frustrated, and something that Deborah had said had sharpened her tongue and ruined her chances, after everything that was going on, she had blown it, “I also know that you’ve got the sort of risk taking personality and smart mouth that can get you fired. Now, convince me.”

“I…” Deborah tried, she really tried to think of something, anything, something that should have been nestling in her head ready to whip out and utilise…but she couldn’t; just like that, as if a dam were breaking or an engine failing, any sense of resolve or pride disappeared, and the weight of everything that she had pushed to the back of her mind rushed forwards and seized the air from her lungs, “I can’t, I can’t do this right now.”

“What?” Carolyn sounded truly shocked as Deborah shook her head and pressed her joined fingers to her lips, straining not to tear up, focusing so hard on stopping her bones from trembling; of all the things to shock her, it _would_ have been something embarrassing.

“Any other day, I could have…” Deborah grasped at whatever slim threads of self-restraint that she still possessed, to try and stop herself from falling into a pit of complete and utter hopelessness; but she knew when she was beaten, and the world had done it…all she could do now was refuse to break down completely, maintain some pride, “I-I could have swanned in here and convinced you that I was worth hiring, but I just can’t today, I’m sorry. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”

“What’s wrong?” Carolyn asked, eyeing her cautiously; it wasn’t the voice of concern, but one that might be heard from an audience member standing too near a shark cage, “You were eager when you called me, and when you replied to my offer.”

“The past few months have been hard.” Deborah let out a bitter laugh, and pressed her hands more tightly together, pursing her lips; an understatement, but this woman didn’t need to know.

“Explain.” Carolyn instructed; she sat behind her desk, pen still clutched in one hand, watching Deborah with something akin to tentativeness, but she didn’t tell her to be quiet, or dismiss her, or even rush to try and cheer her up.

Even though she was a complete stranger, and begging had never been her style…Deborah couldn’t help it. Carolyn wanted to know what was wrong, and Deborah hadn’t been able to tell anyone, or felt as if she wanted to talk to _anyone_ …but she needed this so badly. An impartial judge, judging her last ditch effort before deciding whether she went to Heaven or to Hell.

“I…I…My Dad died today.” Deborah’s voice broke, and just like that she knew that she was tearing up, even as she dropped her head into her hands and tried not to choke, or to cry, “He died, and I don’t even know what I’m doing here, because my brother called me this morning to tell me _over the phone_ , a-and I got sacked, which you know, a-and I had a baby on my own, and I haven’t seen her in three weeks because the father took her away, and I don’t know what I’m doing…it’s been a _really_ rough time for me, and I…I really need this break.”

All of this spewed out without Deborah really wanting it to, but there was no altering the silence that fell when it did. She dropped her head into her hands again, and waited to be dismissed, or judged incompetent; it didn’t matter how skilled a pilot was if they couldn’t even manage their home life. Deborah was just relieved, almost peripherally, that she hadn’t mentioned the alcoholism…that was over, she had beaten that, there was no need.

“You realise that…if I hire you…you won’t be Captain.” Carolyn’s voice was like a whistle in the middle of the desert; Deborah didn’t expect it so soon after her minor breakdown, nor did she expect the softened, almost gentle and tentative nature of her tone.

“What?” Deborah most definitely didn’t sniffle as she lifted her gaze, and remained hunched over as she took in the sight before her; Carolyn had lowered her pen to the desk, and was leaning forwards just enough to look at the other woman with dipped eyebrows, as she quite visibly attempted to maintain a strict and ruthless expression.

“If I hire you, due to your reputation, and your dismissal, I am only going to make you First Officer.” Carolyn explained more clearly, as if this were obvious; she must not have realised that every word she said was like a glittering knife to Deborah’s chest, pulling her back from the brink of complete desperation.

“I’ve been a First Officer.” Deborah replied quickly, swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat; she would take anything, anything at all just to get back on her feet, “I can live with that.”

“And you wouldn’t be getting a full wage.” Carolyn continued, eyes refusing to meet Deborah’s, as if she were ashamed to be seen offering such an olive branch, “I can only offer about two thirds of what a First Officer at Air England would earn.”

“That’s still a lot more than I’m getting now.” Deborah remarked, sitting up a little straighter, making an effort to appear less pathetic; this couldn’t actually be happening, no one was this forgiving, or kind.

“Alright then.” Carolyn nodded, and then pursed her lips, giving the matter a moment’s thought; the seconds stretched past, and Deborah didn’t think that she breathed at all until she next opened her mouth, “So, taking into account your…situation…I’m going to give you one more chance to convince me.”

Just like that, it was as if Deborah were viewing the angel that had once resided within Lucifer himself; Carolyn was as strict and threatening as she had been ten minutes before, but she was giving her a chance. Nobody gave Deborah more than one chance; she was supposed to succeed first time, and when she didn’t she was dropped.

She couldn’t screw this up.

“I can promise that out of all the people that you could hire, I’m the most talented.” Deborah assured her, taking a deep breath and steadying her voice, lifting her head as high as she dared, “I can’t make any promises regarding my personality, or my work ethic, but I _can_ assure you that…I’m loyal, and _extremely_ needy right now, so I won’t let you down.”

That might not have worked; honesty never had before. But Carolyn smiled fleetingly, it might not even have been a smile actually, and she closed her folder, meeting Deborah’s eyes.

“If you wait around for a while, then I can go through the paperwork with you.” Carolyn informed her, “We haven’t got any customers yet, but I’m sure that if you find yourself somewhere to stay, you can come in next week to be type-rated, and to receive Arthur’s tour of the airfield.”

“Just to clarify.” Deborah cleared her throat and aimed for something just south of nonchalant; it was all that she could do not to descend into dizzy hysteria, “You’re hiring me?”

“Yes, I’m hiring you.” Carolyn exclaimed, as if she were scolding hers; she rolled her eyes and huffed, and then fixed Deborah with a pointed glare that begged no argument, “But I expect you to be on your best behaviour; if you disappoint me, then you’ll be out on the streets.”

“Thank you.” Deborah gasped, letting a nervous smile stretch her lips as she pressed her hands to her mouth; she shifted as if to lurch forwards and embrace the other woman from across the desk, but decided that that was a bit much, “Really, thank you.”

“That’ll do.” Carolyn groaned; then she looked over Deborah’s head and raised her voice, “Arthur! Get Miss Richardson some more coffee!”

“Deborah’s fine.” Deborah remarked unhelpfully; if she was going to work there, that needed sorting quickly; she wasn’t sure, she was just too blown off her feet by the fact that she had effectively broken down in this woman’s office and been given a job. That didn’t happen; if it did, then she was going to try being honest more often.

“Are you working with us?” Deborah turned just in time to see Arthur poke his head through the door and clock the bright smile on his face; if it had been her, she would have been eavesdropping, but he must have just been waiting for them to finish.

“Yes, she is.” Carolyn sighed, her day’s quota for patience obviously having run out; she wafted her hands at Arthur, “I asked for coffee, not questions; mush!”

“That’s brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, ignoring his mother for the sake of hurrying to Deborah’s side to impress upon her the importance of her joining their company, “I can’t wait, it’s going to be amazing – hold on, I’ll get you your coffee, then I’ll come back.”

oOoOoOo

Archie was being an annoyance. True, he was helping Deborah transport her possessions from his London house to her newly purchased house in Fitton, but he was still making more of a fuss than he should have, which was annoying.

She didn’t need his help; Dad had apparently had more money than he had ever admitted to, so her inheritance had bought her a mortgage. The funeral had been simple and swift, and Deborah didn’t really remember it; all that stuck in her mind was the fact that everyone there had once been the adults related to her that she could never connect to because she had been a child…she had been glad when it ended, and she got to go to bed and distract herself with trying to remember her way around Fitton airfield.

“Debbie, I can’t fit all of this in the truck.” Archie announced as he stood on the lawn of his house and surveyed the furniture that Deborah had laid out in preparation; he sounded exhausted, which he probably was, but then again, so was she.

“Then leave the wardrobe.” Deborah muttered, pushing her hair behind her shoulders; she was sitting cross legged on the grass beside her armchair, one of the tattered ones that had travelled from her parents’ house, to the flat that she and her first partner had owned, to Archie’s flat, “I’ll leave my clothes on the floor.”

“How about these?” Archie suggested, coming to stand behind her, placing his hands on the furniture as if he had any right to dictate what she did and didn’t take with her, “You only need one armchair for the time being.”

“No, I need all of my armchairs, and my sofa.” Deborah replied waspishly, not giving him the time of day to tip her head back and meet his gaze; she was an adult, she didn’t need him dipping his toes in and interfering anymore, “They’re the only thing I’ve had since I moved into my first flat; I’m not leaving them behind.”

Deborah was pretty sure that Mum had carried them from all of her residence’s too; the last time she had seen her mother she had been a child, and she couldn’t quite remember a lot of what she used to say, but she remembered how Mum would tell her off for picking at the hole in the arm of the biggest one, because it had been their great grandmother’s, or something ridiculous like that. Mum used to sit with Deborah on her lap in those armchairs. Dad had spent weeks in them after Mum had died.

Archie wasn’t allowed to keep them in his house when he was perfectly capable of transporting them to Fitton.

“I’ll have to make two trips to get all of your things to Fitton.”Archie remarked, as if that might actually sway Deborah’s decision.

“Then make two trips!” Deborah snapped without a shred of guilt, “I’m not leaving them behind. I love these armchairs, I’m not leaving them; why are you trying to take these things I love away from me?”

“Debbie, you need to stop.” Archie sighed; she glanced over her shoulder long enough to see him shake his head and press his hand over his eyes while he remained propped up on one arm, “You’ve been frantic these past few weeks.”

“I’ve been working.” Deborah replied curtly; she pulled at the grass as she might have done when she was young, and tried to ignore the trickling of resentment that started up in her guts.

“We’ve barely talked about Dad.” Archie groaned; he didn’t move, but he tried to maintain some sort of a conversation from either side of the armchair, without coming nearer to her. He had been trying to talk for weeks now, but after the first night of crying, she hadn’t wanted to; Deborah had never been needy…Archie hadn’t either.

“I don’t want to talk about Dad.” Deborah retorted wanly; she had so much on her plate, and Dad had been trying to help…this wasn’t helpful, this was horrible, “I don’t want to sit around and try to remember Mum, and all the good times we had as a family. I want to go to work and prove to Chris that I’m fit to look after my own daughter.”

“I told him that you’d stopped drinking.” Archie continued, talking without pause; how he thought that this would make her feel better, she didn’t know, but he’d been being careful with her for weeks now, “He was pleased.”

“That’s great.” Deborah remarked dismissively; she didn’t want to hear this, not when she had deliberately not told Dad about her drinking problems, even though she knew that he knew about them, “I’m sure he was.”

“And he couldn’t stop raving about how beautiful his granddaughter is.” Archie let out a truncated chuckle; why did he keep trying to reminisce? These weren’t good memories.

“He met her once.” Deborah replied; there was nothing happy about introducing Verity to dad, it was heart breaking, and a reminder of everything that was wrong with her situation, “Under supervision.”

“Debbie-” Archie started, but she didn’t allow him to go on.

“I’m fine, Archie.” Deborah raised her voice and tired not to shout, taking into account the fact that he was grieving, even if she didn’t want to; that didn’t mean she wanted to endure his company for any longer than she needed to, “Now help me move my things or go away.”

oOoOoOo

It was good to be wearing the uniform again. It may have been a cheap polyester uniform, a First Officer’s uniform, but it was good; Deborah may have spent the week filling out forms and getting type-rated, and sitting in the porta-cabin, but she felt like a pilot again. It was more than she had ever expected.

The plane may have been in need of a good doing over, but it would do.

“Well, I’m off.” Deborah announced as she rose from behind the desk that she had claimed as her own; Arthur was doing _something,_ and Carolyn was working behind the other desk, so there was nothing pertinent that needed seeing to, “I’ve got a few things to do; a few more things to sort out.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” Carolyn remarked, glancing up from her filing; she had been harried over the past week, rushing through piles of legal documents that Deborah didn’t understand, leaving Deborah and Arthur to their own devices, “Hopefully we should have at least one customer by Monday, so I expect you fresh and ready to fly.”

“Never fear…” Deborah purred, sending her new employer a charming grin as she swept her jacket from the back of her chair and slipped it onto her shoulders; she couldn’t wait to fly again, just for the lift that it would give her.

“So, are you doing anything nice?” Arthur asked, looking up from where he sat on the edge of the sofa, “Fitton’s got loads of great things to do, and there are loads of nice people.”

“I haven’t really had time to meet people yet.” Deborah replied reluctantly; the grounds crew seemed pleasant, but she hadn’t approached them, cautious as she was not to make the same mistakes again, “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Oh.” Arthur didn’t seem fazed; he never did, his cheer from their first meeting never faltering once in their short acquaintance, “Well, you should, when you get the time. You’ll make friends much more quickly that way.”

Deborah nodded, and managed to stride half way to the door before she ground to a halt; she was alone, in a new town, with no friends…now was the time to be moving on with her life, making it something good for once, free of any of the expectations of before.

“Arthur?” Deborah inquired, turning back on her heel to address their so far redundant steward; there was no harm in making friends, especially not ones that actually seemed to want her around…that was something else that she hadn’t done in a while, “Are you busy today?”

“Not really, no.” Arthur replied obliviously, shaking his head and gazing at her with an expression dominated by bewilderment, “Why?”

“I need to buy a car.” Deborah answered shortly, smirking for the sake of rejecting any negative thoughts that still lingered in the back of her mind; from the dreadful ashes would rise something better, “My Dad left me quite a bit of money, so I can spare a bit; I thought I’d splash out…which means that I need a second opinion.”

“You want me to help you buy a car?” Arthur repeated, as if he were amazed by the very idea; he blinked up at Deborah as if he had never been asked such a thing before. Then again…as far as she knew, he spent all day with her and his mother; she had never heard him talk about anyone else.

“I want something fun to help keep my off of everything that’s been going on in my life.” Deborah explained flippantly, making it sound like no large matter, “I think a nice car, and some nice driving will be very…nice. It might be a good way to get to know each other.”

“That’s brilliant, of course I’ll help.” Arthur leapt to his feet, grinning with an excitement unsuited to car shopping; it wasn’t bad though, in fact exactly the sort of joy that Deborah could use in her life, “Just let me get my coat, I’ll be right there. I don’t know anything about cars, but I’m sure that I can be really helpful.”

“I’m sure you can.” Deborah agreed, humouring him as he scrambled for his coat, noting how Carolyn glanced up at them and rolled her eyes, a smile appearing on her lips nonetheless; when Arthur was suitably coated, Deborah began walking towards the door, fully expecting him to follow in her wake, just to set up the balance of their impending friendship, “Come on.”

Later that evening, Deborah’s good mood was probably the only thing that helped her talk their way out of an official warning, as there was really no good excuse for driving a brand new purple Lexus down the Fitton bypass at forty miles per hour over the limit.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It had been almost three months, and Deborah still hadn’t been allowed back in the flight-deck; to be more precise, MJN still hadn’t procured any bookings, so Carolyn had banned access to the plane in order to save the money on lighting and heating. But it was stable employment, and Deborah was enjoying having something solid to devote herself to, even if all she had to do was complete all sorts of paperwork and make phone calls to Carolyn’s previous connections in the hope that they would publicise the airline.

There was no denying though, that Deborah could see herself getting used to working at MJN. Carolyn and Arthur were amiable, and she couldn’t find a single shred of actual disdain within either of them; neither of them had given her any reason to suspect that they didn’t like her, or held any bad feelings towards her. Even the ground’s crew seemed pleasant; a clean slate meant that Deborah had managed to reinvent herself…as herself. No drink, no false composure; just her own wit and charm, as it came to her, with perhaps a slight over indulgence in her reasonable knowledge of sports and bar chatter.

It should have been enough to prove to Chris that she was capable of looking after her own daughter. She couldn’t linger on such thoughts, however; no, Deborah had to allow herself to simply enjoy herself, regardless of what everyone else was seeing.

Arthur, Deborah had discovered, was not only consistently cheery, and the epitome of optimism and loveliness, but also…a bit slow. Not stupid, not at all; he did seem to understand the adult world, and speak with a decent vocabulary (even if he often confused the longer elements of his lexicon)…he was just slow, and so at ease with the world that he didn’t seem to notice when he occasionally lagged behind it.

None of that really mattered though; Deborah accepted that he was a clot, and that her nerves were destined to be frayed, but Arthur was a charming young man, too lovely, and too eager to be her friend for her to pass up the chance to get to know him. It had been a long time since she had had a friend that didn’t pretend around her, or wasn’t talking behind her back; it was nice to have an ally…even if Arthur _did_ have a tendency to skirt around the edges of the room when he wasn’t directly involved in a conversation.

That could be fixed. Deborah had no doubt that with a little effort, the young man would stop seeming so shocked to find that his company was desired. There was no doubt that Arthur, with all of his clumsiness and hasty apologies, had spent a life being scolded for his tendency towards accidents and ineptitude…Deborah had caused enough of her own messes that she couldn’t blame him. She would need to be the one to build the bridges, and to offer the olive branches.

Carolyn, for her part, was hard at work and business like at all times; just as sharp and no nonsense as she had been on the first day, pretending that she wasn’t sympathetic to Deborah’s troubles, the older woman was easy to navigate. Deborah had to admit, she actually quite liked her; it was refreshing, being around someone who didn’t try and hide the fact that they were self-satisfied and didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world was doing.

This particular morning, Deborah was sitting behind the desk that she had claimed as her own, feet propped up on the bar underneath it as she skimmed through the day’s paper that she had snaffled from the canteen entrance of the airfield. Arthur was on the other side of the room, sitting on the sofa and doodling on a pile of paper that Deborah had taken from Carolyn’s printer days beforehand.

Without any preamble, the door to the porta-cabin swung open and Carolyn appeared in the space left behind, a satisfied smirk on her lips as she wielded what looked like a wide cardboard calendar.

“Greetings useless employees.” Carolyn declared as she pulled the door closed behind her and strode into the room; she slipped behind the empty desk, the with its back against the rear of the room, underneath the small sun window, and dropped the calendar onto its clear top, all the while making ushering motions with her free hand, “Rise and behold!”

“Ooh, is that the wall chart?” Arthur asked, practically bounding from the sofa and dropping his paper and pen onto the cushions; he moved to Carolyn’s side as Deborah came to stand on her other flank, and leaned over the chart, reaching out to touch the pages, and getting a swift slap for his troubles, “Do we have a job?”

“We have _one_ job, on Thursday.” Carolyn replied, pointing to the single inked line nestled among the plain white bars; she could measure her tone all that she liked, there was no hiding the joy in her voice or the glint in her eyes, “The gods have smiled on us, and given us a Valentine’s weekend worth of wealthy students who’s daddy’s can’t stand to see them fly to Pisa with the rest of the population.”

“Ah, the blessed upper classes; what would we poor folk do without their charitable disdain?” Deborah drawled, unable to keep a small smile from her lips as she inspected the chart from over Carolyn’s shoulder, “Are they aware that they’re only getting one pilot and a steward that’s their age?”

“They don’t need to know.” Carolyn retorted, making sure to turn her head between Deborah and Arthur as she lifted the wall chart from the desk and hooked the string loop at its top over the window’s latch, so that it hung limply over the bare expanse of wall; there was no mistaking the instruction in the arc of her eyebrows, “Besides, I’m not letting the two of you fly to Italy on your own.”

“I’ll get the hang of it soon, Mum, I promise.” Arthur insisted, pressing his hands together as he slowly followed his mother out from behind the desk; his eagerness was like a tangible taste in the air, and had been for the months that he had been coming to work every day in a perfectly pressed waistcoat and shirt, however cheap they might have been, “I’ve almost remembered all of my lines.”

“He has actually.” Deborah remarked lightly, offering a faint smile of encouragement; she walked as far as she needed to in order that she could lean back against the empty desk, longing as it was for an owner, and loosely fold her arms, “From what I gather, Arthur even understands what all of the long words actually _mean_.”

“Regardless, this is my company, and I can’t in good faith let GERTI leave the airfield with only two members of staff on board.” Carolyn replied wanly, coming to stand in front of her office, “I don’t have the time or money to be dealing with law suits when one of you crashes the plane.”

“I can’t crash the plane.” Arthur noted helpfully as he made his way back to the sofa, dropping down and knocking the pile of paper to the floor, almost as if he were pointing out his innocence before the judgement even needed to be cast, “I’m not the one flying it.”

“And I happen to be _very_ good at flying it.” Deborah added, looking pointedly to Carolyn; it had been far too long since she had been allowed to fly, and she wasn’t going to sacrifice the simmering anticipation in her stomach for the sake of anxiousness or office politics, “Is this the only job this week, or are there more?”

“There are more jobs on the way, but they’re spaced out.” Carolyn answered, shrugging her shoulders and raising her hands helplessly into the air at her sides; she had been working hard, that much was clear, but the results that they were seeing were slow coming, and unimpressive, “You already know that where we can fly to is limited until I can get a second pilot…all we have to do now is hope that people start booking.”

“Then consider me your guardian angel, or perhaps blue fairy.” Deborah announced, feeling for the first time in months, rather proud of herself, “I did as you asked, and talked to the travel agents about promoting the company; I reckon I even managed to charm most of them into doing it for less than we first thought.”

“ _Really_?” Carolyn inquired, raising her eyebrows and smiling as if she didn’t quite believe it, but was willing to play along; teasing was something that Deborah knew she was going to have to get used to, whether she liked it or not, “So you’ve actually been working this week have you?”

“That I have.” Deborah replied curtly, pursing her lips and holding Carolyn’s gaze; she had to maintain a good impression after all, so hard work was key at this juncture, “Rather well actually.”

“And here I thought you’d spent most of it gossiping with Arthur.” Carolyn drawled, shaking her head as if in despair; there was no heat behind the gesture though, “I don’t care how long it takes you; as long as you keep getting the job done, and the job done well, I think I might keep you.”

“Excellent.” Deborah replied; she inhaled deeply, and unravelled her arms so that she could rub her hands together and duck her head, “I must admit though, I can’t wait to be flying again instead of sitting here thinking about flying while the plane sits outside, wistfully sharing my dreams.”

“Which is what Thursday is for.” Carolyn remarked matter-of-factly; then she stepped back and placed her hand on the door to her office, pausing only to inform them that, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have accounts to look over.”

The door barely had time to click shut before Arthur was beaming and hopping up, tucking his feet underneath his legs on the sofa.

“This is going to be brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, wringing his hands together over his lap as he looked to Deborah as if asking her to compound his excitement; Deborah could only huff a small laugh and shake her head, rolling her eyes as she made her way towards him, “I can’t wait!”

“Have you never worked on an actual flight yet?” Deborah inquired, as she lowered herself onto the opposite end of the sofa and daintily arranged herself; it wasn’t as if there was so much work to do that she couldn’t spare an hour or two strengthening the bridges that they were building.

“No…Dad never wanted me to, so I’d just stay here with Mum and make coffees and things. Sometimes not even that.” Arthur explained, his smile drooping as he shrugged his shoulders and wound his fingers together; his eyes darted away from Deborah’s, and it wasn’t hard to see that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, “This sounds much more fun though.”

“Oh, it will be.” Deborah assured him; then she feigned a grimace at the thought of what flying with actual humans being was like…for someone who had never done it before, it was an _experience_ , “Given the nature of Valentine’s day, however, I think that after your introductions and the safety speech, the best place for you will be in the flight-deck.”

“Won’t the passengers need serving?” Arthur asked, his brow furrowing as he lifted his brown eyes from his hands to peer searchingly at Deborah; he really was slow…she would have to learn to get used to it.

“I think they might become a bit preoccupied.” Deborah remarked, quirking her eyebrows and relaxing just a tad more into the sofa; that, and she could use the company, even if the flight was only an hour or two.

“Oh… _Oh…”_ Arthur’s confusion shifted to understanding as quickly as it took for his eyes to widen; slow, but not stupid, or uneducated…or particularly bothered about what their passengers would be doing, as stunned hope washed across his expression and he leaned forwards ever so slightly as if holding himself back, _“_ So, you mean I can come and sit at the back of the flight-deck, with you, _during_ the flight?”

“You can sit in the Captain’s seat if you like.” Deborah offered nonchalantly, taking a degree of pleasure from actually making someone happy for once; this was nice, holding the cards and dolling them out to someone who deserved them, “There’s no point me getting used to it if Carolyn’s just going to hire someone else into the position.”

“Wow.” Arthur breathed, sounding as if he were genuinely amazed in a way that no one in his position should have been, “This is so exciting!”

“That it is.” Deborah agreed, nodding sagely; she kicked her feet up onto the sofa and curled her hand through the air, “I’ll tell you what; how about you run your speeches by me again? They weren’t quite right last time.”

“Alright.” Arthur nodded quickly, and practically rolled from the sofa; he scrambled to his feet and straightened his back theatrically, clearing his throat and lowering his voice into a pompous trill, “Greetings Sirs and Madams, and welcome on board our flight today with MJN, our transatlantic flight-”

“We’re not crossing the Atlantic.” Deborah interrupted; she had to bite her tongue to stop from saying anything more, “We’re going to Italy.”

“Oh, right…” Arthur acknowledged, nodding dismissively; it was clear that he discarded her correction, too engrossed in his speech, “Welcome on board today, on board our trans…trans-european-”

“How about you just say flight?” Deborah suggested, taking care to maintain her patience; it was early after all, and he would get there eventually…she hoped.

“Okay.” Arthur nodded, and then carried on as he had before, “Welcome on board our MJN flight to Italy today. I’m your steward, Arthur Shappey, and from now until your disembarkation, and throughout the flight, I will be looking after you and making sure that the atmosphere and the ambiance and the flight are enjoyable and to the highest and most esteemed standards on board today.”

“Not bad…the premise is good.” Deborah remarked, stretching her tone to its limit in an attempt to sound reasonable; it was like teaching really, if she had ever actually taught…patience, and the continued assumption that just a little push would make him reach the correct answer himself, “How about we shave a little bit off and make it less…embellished?”

oOoOoOo

Flying GERTI was unlike flying any other plane that Deborah had been in command of. Of course, she was a smaller model, and an entirely different type of jet than the lumbering aircrafts that she had been piloting before, but…GERTI was also…a different experience altogether.

She wasn’t sleek, or shiny, and she didn’t soar into the air with any grace. No, Carolyn’s plane was old, and rusty in places, there were bits falling off of the control panel and various vents, some of the alarms went off at a feather’s touch whereas others didn’t go off at all when Deborah tested them, and the engines whirred and occasionally clunked at worrying intervals.

But GERTI was sturdy. That much was obvious, and Deborah couldn’t help but feel a touch of fondness warming her chest when the wheels left the tarmac. The plane might have been falling to pieces, but Deborah could easily learn little tricks to get her to function properly…the personal touch.

Once they were in the air, Carolyn remained in the Galley, which was stocked with the bare minimum of kitchen essentials, in order to keep an eye on the passengers, but Arthur had wasted no time in joining her at the front. Deborah was actually quite flattered that he was so eager to spend time with her; making friends was easier than she had ever experienced before.

“Do we have protocol?” Deborah asked about twenty minutes into the flight, turning away from the sky to face Arthur, who was gazing in wonder at the wisps of cloud; for all that Carolyn nagged her, she hadn’t sat her down and thrown the rule book at her as other CEOs might.

“What do you mean?” Arthur replied, tearing his eyes from the window for half of a second; he was entranced, which was lovely really, but not helpful for maintaining any kind of conversation.

“I mean, in the way that other airlines have protocol regarding how you address the passengers and what pieces of information we give them, and how often.” Deborah explained, grimacing at the memory; she had hated the clear cut procedures, and the rules, and the restrictions, but they were part of the job, and she had learnt to accept them, “Carolyn never said anything to me about the procedure.”

“Oh, I don’t think she cares.” Arthur shrugged, smiling faintly at Deborah when she raised her eyebrows and sat back slowly, “Mum’s like that; so long as you’re doing what you’re paid for, so flying the plane, I reckon you can say whatever you like. She doesn’t even care about upsetting people.”

“Well…that’s…I can work with that.” Deborah remarked, slowly; then, on the spur of the moment, just because she could, despite not having prepared, she leaned forwards and flicked the intercom on, listening for the distinctive crackle of it in the air, “This is your pilot speaking; now that we’ve taken off, I’d just like to welcome you on board this MJN flight to Pisa on this fine and sunny Valentine’s day. The stewards and I will try not to disturb you too much, to ensure that you enjoy what I imagine will be a romantic flight to beat all other flights…however, do try not to enjoy yourselves _too_ much, for the sake of our kind host’s dear nerves.”

“Brilliant.” Arthur exclaimed, turning to peer over his shoulder towards the closed door to the flight-deck, as if following the path that her voice had taken; he was easily impressed, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing where ego was concerned.

“It could have been better.” Deborah sighed, slouching back and whipping her hat from her head, flinging it onto the control panel, “Give me a week or two and I’ll be able to churn out things that are much wittier than that was.”

A few moments later, the intercom crackled, and Carolyn’s voice filtered through; now they’d find out what the boss thought of fun announcements.

“ _Deborah, as charming as that was, please refrain from using the word ‘dear’ in any sentence describing me.”_ Carolyn instructed, her exasperation tangible to the ear; it wasn’t a scold though, so Deborah reckoned that she was alright, _“I have an image to uphold.”_

Instead of responding, Deborah simply smirked and chuckled in her throat, and adjusted their height and speed. She was definitely going to enjoy working here; perfectly comfortable, and a relatively free reign…yes, this was going to be easy. There was little time to muse on that fact though, as Arthur began fidgeting in his seat, and turned imperceptibly. Deborah caught the motion out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head, quirking an expectant eyebrow at him.

“So…what are you going to do when we get to Pisa?” Arthur inquired coyly; it was obvious that he was trying to sound nonchalant, but his cheeks were red, and his tone stringy, and Deborah didn’t think that he could have acted or lied if he had possessed all of the talent in the world.

“I don’t know, Arthur.” Deborah replied; she hadn’t given it much thought. It wasn’t like she had boundless colleagues to accompany, and she didn’t think that she would like to even if she did; she was sick of playing herself up to try and fit in with them…even finding pilots from other airlines was out of the picture.

“What do people working for proper airlines do?” Arthur asked, unimpeded by the dampening of Deborah’s tone; he was like a terrier, clinging to the subject matter until someone dismissed him with a swift metaphorical kick.

“Hit the bar normally.” Deborah muttered, trying not to sound too bitter; it wouldn’t do to let Arthur know about her problems, not when he could go straight to Carolyn, and Carolyn could easily decide that hiring her wasn’t worth the trouble, “I can’t really do that though – I’m flying the next day after all.”

“Oh, right.” Arthur nodded dourly, almost dejectedly, dropping his gaze to stare at his hands; that wouldn’t do, not at all. He…he really _did_ spend a lot of time on his own. Deborah supposed that most people his age, given the type of education that he had received, would be in university now…not many people to keep him company…

“Have you ever been to Pisa before?” Deborah inquired nonchalantly, taking a moment to inspect her nails when Arthur looked up, so that she didn’t seem to be angling for anything; the decision was made before her brain had time to catch up, but it wasn’t an unappealing one.

“No, never.” Arthur replied, shaking his head; now that wouldn’t do at all, “I’ve never been to Italy at all.”

“So you’ve never tasted the wonders of freshly made Italian food?” Deborah continued, feeling a smile pluck at her lips as Arthur’s eyes widened and his expression lightened just by the power of imagination, “Or seen the stunning architecture?”

“Nope.” Arthur informed her; he hadn’t twigged yet, that was for sure, “They sound amazing.”

“Then I suggest, young sir, that the first thing we do after finishing the paperwork is hunt down the best gelato in Pisa and eat a horrendous amount of that with a rustic Italian Panini.” Deborah remarked, unable to remain entirely cool as her tone shifted to that of an entertainer, or someone who was just very proud of herself, “When we’ve done that, I’d be amiable to visiting the leaning tower again, and perhaps finishing the day off with some gorgeous pasta dishes.”

“Wow!” Arthur gaped at her, and leaned against the arm of his seat as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing; it was an ego-boost, if nothing else, “You’d really want to do all of that with me?”

“Of course; I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.” Deborah retorted, smirking against the welling of…something in her throat; it really _did_ sound like her idea of fun, far from drinking and partying as she had been trying for years to convince herself was enjoyable…perhaps she was simply old before her time, or maybe growing up with three adults had affected her…whatever it was, Deborah knew that she would much rather be trawling around Italy with Arthur than hunting down bars to haunt…it was incredible the realisations one could come to when they weren’t temporally inebriated, “It’s a crime that you haven’t experienced the delicious wonders of Italy before now.”

“Aw, thank you Deborah!” Arthur exclaimed, with so much vigour that Deborah through that he might leap from his seat and wrap his arms around her; he didn’t, but it was a close call, “What about Mum?”

Without any further ado, Deborah flicker the intercom again; there was no harm in asking Carolyn along, even if the idea was discomforting.

“Carolyn, do you fancy trawling around Pisa with Arthur and I?” Deborah inquired, hoping that the answer was negative; as much as she appreciated the woman, the less time they had to spend together, the better.

“ _I’d much rather sit in the peace and quiet of the hotel and make urgent phone calls.”_ Carolyn retorted, almost immediately; Deborah mused that she must have been sitting in the Galley, eyeing the passengers, but too uncomfortable with the rest of the human race to disturb their romantic flight, _“Why? Don’t tell me you need a handler?”_

“Not if you’d rather be elsewhere.” Deborah trilled, praying that that was enough encouragement.

“ _I can’t waste a day when I could be making connections and getting us more flights.”_ Carolyn explained, honestly; she _did_ have a lot of work to do, and getting a company’s wheels off the ground was difficult, _“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to have fun without me.”_

“Alright.” Deborah acknowledged, shooting Arthur an apologetic shrug as she pressed her lips together; just the two of them then, far easier to manage, “We’ll bring you back some biscotti then?”

“ _Thank you.”_ Was Carolyn’s only response before the intercom was silenced; she could pretend that she wasn’t grateful, but Deborah didn’t believe her.

Just an hour more of their first flight as an official airline, just the three of them; once a captain had been hired, the flights would pile in until Deborah was sick of them, she was sure. It wasn’t so bad…not at all. She could get used to this.

oOoOoOo

Sitting in a little Italian restaurant that Deborah had remembered from her last visit to Pisa, it became apparent that while Arthur was perfectly adept at holding a conversation, the only way to get him to talk about things that she wanted, was to direct the conversation herself, with questions and statements.

“So, let me get this straight.” Deborah remarked, folding the newly crumbed napkin atop the table; about half way through the streets of Pisa, it had occurred to her that now was a perfect opportunity to do a little digging, and learn more about her employer, “Carolyn has run MJN for years, but she’s only recently owned GERTI?”

“No, it wasn’t MJN before.” Arthur explained, still munching on his crispy sandwich, we he had celebrated as ‘brilliant’ before he had even received it, “It was Dad’s plane, and he ran an airline for his posh friends, but Mum was in charge of it, and did all of the bookings and accounts and stuff. It’s only recently that she won GERTI in the divorce.”

“So they only recently split up?” Deborah inquired, measuring her tone, remaining polite; curiosity and tact were things that had to be carefully balanced, but she was well practiced, and Arthur was oblivious.

“No, they got divorced when I was eighteen, but the legal fighting went on for _years_.” Arthur told her, shrugging his shoulders as if it didn’t matter; he did that a lot, shrugging, and although most of the time Deborah could believe that he really wasn’t bothered by the world, she couldn’t ignore it.

“Oh…I’m sorry.” Deborah replied wanly, unsure of what else she could say; she knew well enough how hard family matters could be, but had no desire to explore the subject.

“Don’t be sorry. I went to boarding school, so I wasn’t there when all the fighting was happening.” Arthur insisted, his optimism shining through the downward tilt of his expression, as his attention seemed to focus unusually hard on his sandwich, “It was just when I came home after finishing sixth form that I found out they weren’t living together anymore, and were arguing over who go the house and the plane. I’m sort of glad Mum got GERTI instead of the house, otherwise we wouldn’t have moved to Fitton, and I wouldn’t get to work as steward.”

“That sounds hectic…” Deborah noted, lowering her gaze to stare at her hands; the uncomfortable wallowing in her stomach returned, and she considered ending the conversation, but Arthur was so open and honest that she didn’t have the heart, “I feel quite lucky I avoided all of that now.”

“You’ve been married?” Arthur’s expression lit up, and he finished his sandwich, only to centre his attention onto her as if fascinated.

“Yes, when I was eighteen.” Deborah explained; she considered holding her tongue, but then she just couldn’t,  unable it seemed to hide more than one thing at a time, “We got divorced when I was twenty – your age actually. It wasn’t nearly so chaotic as your mother’s sounds; we just said goodbye and left for different towns.”

“Oh dear…I can’t imagine being married at my age.” Arthur bemoaned, his sympathy as unimpeded as that of a fairy tale character; tact, it seemed, was something that he was unaccustomed to, “Or getting divorced. You were _really_ young.”

“I was stupidly young, and about as ready as you are now.” Deborah remarked, almost under her breath, though she was sure that Arthur could hear her; he didn’t need to know this, but she hadn’t talked to anyone, not even Archie, about her train-wreck of a life so far, “I can’t begin to imagine what was going through my head at the time.”

“But I bet things started looking up after that; because you learnt your lesson and had the experience.” Arthur chirped, shifting in his seat so that he could prop his feet up on one of the spare chairs, “You’re too smart to make the same mistake again.”

“You’d think so…” Deborah muttered, avoiding holding his gaze for too long; this wasn’t what she has intended, but now that she had started talking, she found it was difficult to stop…it had never been this difficult when she had alcohol in her system, “I have a daughter, you know.”

“Wow, really? You’re a _mother_?” Arthur exclaimed; he didn’t understand, and she didn’t know why she had thought that he might, or why he was the one she expected to give her the empathy that she wanted, “I bet you’re an amazing mum, because you’re so good at everything, and you’re a really nice person-”

“I have a daughter, but I don’t _have_ her.” Deborah elaborated, smarting at the sour taste in her mouth; perhaps it was all too fresh for her to be sharing.

“Oh…” Arthur finally seemed to understand the underlying gravity of her tone; his eyes softened, and he fidgeted, leaning across the table as if he wanted to reach out to her, though what he wanted to do was beyond her, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” Deborah assured him; then, as if a dam broke, she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of her mouth, tumbling quicker than she could properly think them, “She’ll be six months in a few weeks, and she’s beautiful – she’s already getting so big, and she’s existed for half a year, and I’ve barely seen her, or spent more than a few hours a week with her…I’m sorry, this is silly.”

Deborah swallowed hard and averted her eyes, lifting her hand to press the tips of her fingers over her lids; she wasn’t going to cry. There was absolutely no reason to be getting teary this long after the event.

“No, it’s not. I don’t know what to say...” Arthur pursed his lips and glanced at the floor; then he moved as if to rise to his feet, and extended his arms into the air either side of him, “Would you like a hug?”

“That might be nice actually.” Deborah replied, choking slightly; it was a moment of weakness, but there was nothing she could do to stop herself.

Then Arthur was on his feet, and his arms were wrapped around her shoulders, and Deborah was allowing him to hug her into his chest, resting her chin on his shoulder; it was nice, and comforting, but it didn’t solve anything. Arthur was young, and he understood about as much as she had at his age, but it was nice. Apparently nice was all that she had to look forwards to…that, and Arthur’s optimistic rambling in her ear.

“I know I haven’t known you long, but I know you’re a brilliant person. You just need to prove that you’re an even more brilliant mum, and then you could spend more time with your daughter.” Arthur was telling her, lightly, as if he was speaking the gospel truth, “Me and Mum can just tell your daughter’s dad that you’re our best employee, and that you come to work every day and that you’re brilliant at your job. And then when you’re in Fitton, and not in other countries, they might let her stay with you, and…if there’s anything we can do to help…”

Deborah stopped listening. It was lovely to hear such support, but she stopped listening.

oOoOoOo

It would have been a good idea to have kept listening to Arthur. At least then Deborah would have had something to hold onto when they arrived back in Fitton. Carolyn was still on GERTI with Arthur, monitoring his cleaning, so Deborah had made her way to the porta-cabin alone in order to make a start on the paperwork.

She had fished her phone from her bag, and switched it on, only to find a ream of missed calls, all from Chris. Deborah had dropped back into her chair, lungs clenching as her chest was flooded as if with iced water, sending panic shivering through her veins; something might have been wrong, or, someone might have been hurt…he only called her in emergencies.

“ _Debbie – I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”_ Chris answered before Deborah had even pressed the phone to her ear; he had the audacity to sound irritable, as if she were the one in the wrong, _“Why weren’t you picking up? It might have been important.”_

“I was piloting an aircraft.” Deborah replied, through gritted teeth; she gripped the arm of her chair in her palm, doing her best to inhale steadily and refrain from snapping at him, “What’s wrong? Is Verity alright?”

“ _She’s fine…”_ Chris reassured her, weakly, and not in the least bit comforting; something about his tone gave her the same sense of dread that she should have been feeling when Archie had called her to inform her that their father had died, _“I’ve…I’ve got some things that I need to tell you, and I didn’t feel that they could wait.”_

“What have you done this time?” Deborah demanded, attempting to sound nonchalant, but missing the mark completely; if there was something wrong with her daughter, then she needed to know, she didn’t need him prevaricating and trying to keep her on the peripheries.

“ _I got a new job.”_ Chris informed her, not even doing her the decency to pretend that he wasn’t thrilled; it was almost like he was deliberately rubbing his success in her face, _“A better one, where I’m actually in charge of a class.”_

“That’s good.” Deborah remarked, forcing herself to remain pleasant; she wanted to hear about her daughter, not him, she didn’t give a damn about him anymore, “How did you manage that?”

“ _I met a woman…a nice woman, who happened to work for a primary school.”_ Chris explained; Deborah could imagine him tugging at the collar of his coat and grimacing sheepishly, and acting as if he was doing her a favour by informing her, _“She mentioned that her school had an opening, I applied, and I got the job_.”

“So you got a girlfriend and used her to get a job.” Deborah relayed for him, dragging in a breath and holding onto a shred of superiority, sparing only a fleeting thought for the poor woman that would have to deal with him now; none of this mattered though, not after he had worried her, “What has that got to do with me?”

“ _The job’s in Cumbria. Barrow-in-Furness actually.”_ Chris answered, after a lengthy pause; his guilt washed into a toneless drone in Deborah’s ear, as she forced herself to keep her hand raised, _“I’ll be moving there at the end of the month_.”

“Wait…you don’t mean…you’re moving miles and miles away?” Deborah couldn’t breathe;’ her head was reeling, but unfortunately, without booze in her system, she understood exactly what was being said to her, as she leaned forwards, arms colliding with the desk, “To the Lake District? What about my infant daughter?”

“ _Our daughter is coming with me.”_ Chris replied, tautly, stiltedly, playing the martyr; it was the same thing, all over again, exactly the same thing, _“That’s why I-”_

“You can’t take her away, not that far.” Deborah snapped, regaining her composure far more quickly than she ever could have the first time, when she had been pregnant; she was confident now, sober, in a decent job, doing everything he wanted, and she wasn’t going to let that happen, “You can’t do that!”

“ _Debbie-”_ Chris started, but she refused to listen to his excuses.

“The deal was no lawyers, and I get to see her every week – Verity gets to see her Mummy every week, and you don’t _take_ her.” Deborah insisted, trying not to raise her voice in case someone came in; except…she didn’t care, because instead of misery, her chest was aflame, and she was ready to rip out his throat, “You can’t take her away from me, this isn’t fair-”

“ _You’d still get to see her!”_ Chris insisted, redundantly, as if that were a good thing; as if he had any idea how she was feeling, nice and cosy at home with _her_ daughter.

“When!?!” Deborah abandoned all traces of composure and tore into him, barely noticing as her voice turned shrill, and she dropped into a hiss, “Tell me exactly when I’m going to get to see my baby, Chris! When, between flying here there and everywhere, and driving to the bloody Lake District, am I going to see her?”

“ _Of course it won’t be as regularly as it is now, because of the distance, but-”_ Chris could reason all that he liked, he wouldn’t sway her; he didn’t care about her, or about her seeing her daughter, all that he cared about was himself, and…there was nothing that she could do.

“But that’s okay because she’ll have you and your new _girlfriend!”_ Deborah spat, bringing the phone away from her ear just long enough to glare at it and hope that it would burst into flames; the sharp stones of hopelessness, of complete and utter despair, began to bury themselves in the walls of her guts.

“ _Look, if you’re not going to be reasonable-”_ Chris groaned, before he was cut off.

“You’re not being reasonable!” Deborah exclaimed; she was shaking now, and no amount of effort could make her stop, “You’re talking about taking my daughter miles away, about making it almost impossible for me to be a significant part of her life-”

“ _If you could prove to me that you’re sober, and stably employed, and capable of looking after her without supervision, then maybe you could have her for whole weeks at a time, in your own home.”_ Chris reeled off the same spiel that he had been spewing for months; any sense of concern or consideration was gone, _“But as it is, Debbie, I don’t trust you to do that yet!”_

“I’m off the drink.” Deborah replied, hollowly, even as she slouched back in her seat and closed her eyes; it meant nothing, it was just an personal victory, one last cry for help, and it didn’t mean a single thing to anyone but herself.

“ _And the rest of it?”_ Chris’ voice taunted her, though she was sure that he would say he meant no such thing; h would never trust her.

“Please don’t do this.” Deborah begged, faintly, voice strained and weak; she never begged, but she would do anything, even if it wasn’t going to work…it wouldn’t work, no matter how much she pleaded, “I can get better, I can _be_ better, I promise, just don’t take her away…please… _please_ …”

“ _I’m sorry Debbie. It’s happening.”_ Chris’s voice was hardly an echo anymore; Deborah only listened, in case he dropped any more bad news on her, _“We’ll talk later about visiting. Bye…”_

Without saying another word, Deborah cut off the call, and in a fit of pique, slammed it against the desk. Then she picked it up and hurled it across the room; she didn’t even hear it hit the door on the other side, as Deborah wrapped her arms together and dropped her head into the crook of her elbows, then pushed her palms against her eyes. Her chest shuddered, and Deborah could only shiver at the chill that ran through her insides, over her skin.

There was nothing she could do.

At some point, Carolyn turned up, and somehow, after convincing Deborah to tell her what the matter was, told her to go home and that she would deal with the paperwork. Unwilling to accept her pity, Deborah did the paperwork. She even filled out her log book, just to prove that she could.

She wasn’t going to give up. Deborah knew that she was doing well, and Chris was going to understand that, even if there was no way for her to stop him moving. Time…that was all she needed.

Time, and a miracle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It had been a long day. A long and stressful day that made Deborah wish that she had another colleague; one that she could sit with in the flight-deck, and give control every now and again…one that wasn’t Carolyn and Arthur, as charming as they both were given the opportunity. Just one more person to make a plane load of men on their stag-do more manageable, because there was no doubt that Arthur had been entirely unfit to deal with them on his own while she flew the plane.

Getting to sit in the porta-cabin and fill out the paperwork was actually something of a respite after the day that they had had. Upon landing, the client paying for the trip had marched right up to Carolyn and begun listing all of the things that _they_ had done wrong; forget his rowdy mates, it was clearly the _crew_ that had been at fault for threatening to ditch in somewhere if they didn’t behave themselves.

Deborah looked up from where she had been idly doodling on the edge of her log-book to glance across the room at Arthur. He had been unusually subdued since their return, and was currently clattering about at the counter, apparently rearranging the coffees and teas, and all of the mugs, humming a dreary tune under his breath, little hopping motions included. Deborah had suggested he invent his own system, but immediately regretted it when she realised that Arthur was moving _everything_.

After two years, she really shouldn’t have expected anything else.

The door swung open, and as if thrown in by a hearty gust of wind, Carolyn entered the porta-cabin, announced by the slamming of the door behind her. There was little point pretending that either of them had been doing much more than await her return…Deborah could only raise her eyebrows and hope that the clients weren’t serious about taking them to court. Even though they would win, MJN couldn’t afford it, and _she_ couldn’t afford the repercussions if Chris caught wind of it.

He was still being stingy on her visits as it was, as if him taking her daughter to Cumbria might have lessened her determination to be a part of her life.

“Alright then, you’re free to go.” Carolyn declared, sighing as she dropped into the chair behind the empty desk and folded her arms atop of it; she had been doing that more often lately, as if she were finally beginning to crave the company of something other than the printer in her separate office, “The client can’t do anything unless they’re willing to fund a lawyer, and they won’t. No one that stingy bothers with legal action.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” Deborah remarked dryly, tapping the end of her pen against her log-book; she couldn’t help the pang of pessimism that drove her next statement, “Even if they do bother, no court would ever convict us.”

“Of course they won’t.” Carolyn replied, rolling her eyes as if she had dealt with this sort of thing before; if she _had_ , then Deborah considered that she might not hold her tongue about leaving the two of them to fend for themselves when she must have recognised problem passengers on arrival, “That doesn’t mean that I want a repeat of today. I want the both of you here on Monday so that I can run the rules by you again, and make sure that you both know the _proper_ way to deal with unruly clients.”

“They were really horrible Mum!” Arthur exclaimed, as the clattering ceased and blessed hush was restored; he ambled over to Deborah’s desk and hopped up onto the edge, so that he was perched beside her, and could vent himself of the negative feelings that came so unnaturally to him, “They kept shouting and throwing things, and they tried to get into the flight-deck.”

There was no denying that the passengers had been _awful_. Deborah had reached the end of her tether around the time that Arthur’s cheer shattered and he had come storming into the flight-deck squeaking about how rude the passengers were being, and complaining about how one of them had even managed to break the fasten-seat-belt sign so that it flickered even when the rest were black.

“If there had been another pilot in the flight-deck, I might have been able to come out and shout at them myself.” Deborah added, noting Carolyn’s exasperated droop and discarding it immediately; she was already in a bad mood, and besides, as the CEO, it was her _job_ to sort out the company, and _before_ either of her employees became injured or had a breakdown, “However, as it was, Arthur had to deal with them on his own, and then lock himself in with me.”

“Yes, I know we need another pilot.” Carolyn acknowledged, sounding almost reasonable; she slouched ever so slightly in her seat and let her palms fall open atop the desk, making it look as if she really were a woman in her fifties, just struggling to get by, instead of one making her own life more difficult, “I am _trying_ to find one.”

“What was wrong with the one you were interviewing last month?” Deborah inquired curtly, taking care to stare at the end of her pen; there had been plenty of people applying for the job as captain, and yet the seat beside hers remained infuriatingly empty, “He looked alright.”

“You didn’t talk to him.” Carolyn retorted, fixing Deborah with a stern glare that she could feel burning into her cheeks; there was always a reason, every single time, “He was a rude, self-absorbed, bigoted man, and he could barely see past the hairs on his nose. You’re better off without some fossil in the Captain’s seat…and I’m not cruel enough to hire someone who can’t stand the idea of a female pilot.”

“Small mercies…” Deborah drawled, switching the pen to her other hand and turning it between her fingers. She couldn’t help but swallow a prickle of sheepishness; there were always excuses, but they were more often than not…fair. Fair wouldn’t cut it though; Carolyn had to start accepting that she couldn’t have perfect employees, not when she didn’t even own a proper airline…they would have to start letting in people that they might not particularly agree with.

That was just life.

“What’s wrong with female pilots?” Arthur asked, peering between the two of them, legs swinging; oh, to be young and oblivious, regardless of the toils of the previous hours…his carefree curiosity was enough to stop the day from becoming truly grim, “Deborah’s brilliant at flying GERTI.”

“That may be true, but there are a lot of old fashioned idiots in the world.” Carolyn answered dryly, offering no other explanation; her eyes wandered over to Deborah, as if to collude on her point, but she received only a cursory nod, “Less than there used to be, but they still exist.”

“Although this is a charming discussion, I’m going home.” Deborah interrupted, before Arthur could say anything else, as he looked ready to do, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees; she was tired, and stressed, and the last thing she wanted to do was get caught in the middle of one of their debates, “I have…a few things to do before Monday, a few things to plan-”

Deborah pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, and was half way through retrieving her coat from the back of the seat and slipping it onto her shoulders when Carolyn waved her hand in the air and shouted over her, making her pause in her tracks.

“Make sure that you don’t book anything for next weekend!” Carolyn instructed sharply, pointing her finger at Deborah and fixing her with a stare that begged on argument; it was a terrible habit, this springing things on her, but it was one that seemed never to be broken, “We’ve got a client. This time it’s a good one, and if we do well, he’ll book us again.”

“Of course.” Deborah sighed, nodding as she pulled her coat on properly and ducked under the desk to retrieve her bag; she only had to call Chris and talk to the social worker, nothing that required her to actually be there in person…little things, all over the phone, so that no one could see her grimacing or curling up on the sofa as they spoke, “I’ll pull out all the stops...razzle dazzle him if I must.”

“Ooh, who is it?” Arthur asked excitedly, grinning as he fidgeted atop Deborah’s desk; the novelty of flying hadn’t worn off, no matter how often Deborah had hoped that it might, for the sake of more peaceful cargo flights, “Where are we going?”

“It’s some snotty millionaire who wants ferrying to the Six Nations final.” Carolyn explained; the bounce in her tone made it clear what she thought of the man, “He’s the sort that pays huge tips if he gets exactly what he wants, so we’re going to give him exactly that, and pray that he signs the contract for next year.”

“Will we be seeing the final as well?” Deborah inquired, perking up ever so slightly as she reappeared from beneath her desk; she had to admit, getting to watch the rugby live _would_ put a little spring in her step.

“Why, of _course_ you will.” Carolyn drawled brightly, cocking her head to the side as she met Deborah’s gaze; the smile on her face, like that of a shark, was never a promising sight, “On the television in the Cabin. I’m not paying for you to go and watch the rugby.”

“Fine.” Deborah conceded, too tired to fight over it; instead, she simply slung her bag over her shoulder and began making her way towards the door, eager to get in her car and absorb the silence for a little while, “I’ll see you both on Monday.”

“Bye Deborah!” Arthur called after her, making her grind to a halt in front of the door; she turned to see him waving his hand through the air, smiling warmly at her, bidding her goodbye as few other people would bother to do, “Have a nice weekend.”

Deborah just smiled and gave Arthur a little wave; he deserved that much, even if his mother was being particularly annoying. With that, she didn’t hang around any longer, and pulled the door open, only to get battered by the wind as it tried to force its way in. One more thing on the list of reasons that the day needed to end; Deborah needed to go to bed, close her eyes, and wait for tomorrow to bring something better.

But first, the drive, and the phone calls.

oOoOoOo

In retrospect, a bar wasn’t the best place for Deborah to seek refuge. Chris would never believe that her resolve was as strong as ever, or that for all of the bustling and cheers from around her, there was no longer a little voice at the back of her head telling her to pour alcohol down her throat and wash away her cares. It had been another stressful day, and Deborah just needed something familiar…it just so happened that in recent years, the most comforting place that she had was the pub in Fitton. Warm, fairly quiet, undisturbed…perfect for wallowing in self-pity.

One of the things that drew her to it was the fact that people kept to themselves. None of the regulars talked to any of the others, which was perfect. Except for tonight. Tonight, Deborah’s solitary wallowing was rudely disturbed as a shadow fell over the bar in front of her.

Rolling her empty glass between her hands, Deborah lifted her gaze from the stained wood, unable to muster more than a quirk of her eyebrows as the shadow didn’t move. She found herself face to face with the barman; blond haired, well-toned, around six foot tall, with a friendly expression on his unremarkably round cheeks, he was the picture of a reasonable man of around forty…he wasn’t the ugliest thing to stand in front of her in the last week.

“Another drink?” the barman asked, gesturing towards Deborah’s empty glass, before returning to his previous posture, propped up on his arms over the bar; now that she really looked at his easy smile, she realised that it had been his eyes that she had felt lingering for the past hour or so, “You can have it on the house if you trade some conversation.”

“I’ll have an apple juice…” Deborah replied wanly, as she pushed her glass towards him; there was little point in refusing, as she had no desire to go back to her empty house yet, no so early in the evening, when there was a chance that Chris or Carolyn might call, “Thank you.”

The barman nodded and did as he was asked, wandering down the bar to retrieve her juice; the whole while he kept turning his head back as if to check that Deborah was still there, moping. When he returned, Deborah took her glass from him, but didn’t take a sip; he was still there, standing opposite her, wearing the same expression on his face that many men had…the only difference was that this time Deborah wasn’t trying, and really didn’t want the attention…except for the voice in the back of her mind aching not to go home.

“Out on your own but not drinking?” the barman teased, just as Deborah was about to lower her gaze and pretend that he wasn’t there at all; there was a playful edge to his tone, a faint bounce in his stance, that was obviously not going to budge, “There’s got to be a story behind that.”

“I don’t drink…due to…personal reasons.” Deborah explained curtly, swallowing the pit of resentment that bubbled at the base of her throat; she didn’t want to talk, but she didn’t want to be rude, and all of a sudden, the way that the man was looking at her made her want to take it back, to force a good impression and abandon her efforts to remain honest, “Besides, I’m a pilot; it’s always good practice to stay sober around flights.”

“A pilot?” the man repeated, whistling through his teeth as he surveyed her; his eyes never left her face, and his lips curled upwards at the corners, “Wow…that’s impressive.”

“Sometimes…other times, not so much.” Deborah remarked dryly, letting her gaze drop to her glass for only a second so that she didn’t linger too long on his smile; it was the perfect opportunity to dazzle a stranger and reap the rewards, but she just didn’t want that anymore…that wasn’t the sort of company Deborah needed, and she knew it, “I’m…I’m sorry, but, um…as flattering as your interest is, I’m not really in the mood for flirting with my barman.”

“I didn’t think you were.” The barman noted bleakly, shaking his head again as he leaned more bodily against the bar; yet, his efforts weren’t deterred in the slightest, though they were perhaps tainted with a slither of sympathy, “Maybe that makes talking to me a really good idea; you might find yourself cheering up.”

“Oh _really_?” Deborah drawled, sitting back in an attempt to buoy her composure and seem more confident; she folded her arms over her chest and fixed him with a challenging glare, reluctantly charmed by the man’s ridiculously unabashed sense of self-assurance, “Go on then: cheer me up.”

“Well, first I need to know what’s upsetting you.” The barman informed her, unfazed as he shifted until his back was turned to the other customers, and he was standing side on, addressing her only; even her most intimidating glare had no effect on him, which was…charming, she supposed, “I can’t fix a problem that I don’t know about…not if you won’t drink my booze.”

“There’s no problem, not one specific thing…” Deborah replied carefully, monitoring her every word, and measuring her posture, the expression on her face as she ran her fingers over the rim of her glass; she may have been alone in a pub in the evening, drinking apple juice, but she had her dignity, if nothing else, “Not something I want to share with a stranger.”

“If you tell me things about you, I’ll tell you things about me.” The barman offered; dared was more accurate. Deborah might have scoffed had she not been emotionally worn out; as it was, she quirked an eyebrow and tried not to let the corner of her lips curl into a smirk, as she realised that the man was serious. There wasn’t a trace of deception or lechery about him.

“They’re not attractive problems.” Deborah promised, unable to shake the clenching of suspicion in her chest as she eyed the man; but it had been so long since she had talked to someone that she wasn’t reliant upon, someone who actually gave a damn, even for only an hour or two, “Not the sort that you see in movies, when the handsome man swoops in and patches the woman up, and gets to take her home.”

“So you think I’m handsome then?” the barman quipped, taking the opportunity to swivel on his heel and lean down, resting his elbows on the bar and propping himself up until their eyes were level; he was incorrigible, and she shouldn’t have stood for it…but it was funny, Deborah supposed…his nerve.

“Look, I’m happy to sit here and pile all of my miseries on you, but you won’t like it.” Deborah remarked, pressing her lips into a thin line as she shifted in her seat, pulling her arms a little more tightly; he had one chance to walk away, and after that, he was going to get exactly what he was asking for…catharsis was worth traumatising him for his efforts.

“You never know until you try.” The barman shot back, grinning as if he had won some sort of argument that they weren’t having; his was still bouncing slightly on his heels, jittering as if that might convince her that he really was interested in hearing all of Deborah’s problems.

“You really are desperate to talk to me.” Deborah drawled, inhaling slowly and sizing him up; she had no intention of spending her evening with anyone, but she didn’t want to go home alone…she could already feel herself being lured into what must have been feigned interest, because nobody was naturally drawn to her without a gallon of alcohol induced swagger in her system, “Why?”

“Because you are beautiful, and you’re obviously not a pushover, and…I don’t know…you’ve just got that look about you that says you’re _really_ interesting.” The barman explained, grimacing slightly as if laying out his logic was like a bad smell beneath his nose; then he shrugged carelessly, smiling when his gaze wandered over Deborah’s widening eyes and more heavily arcing eyebrows, “Besides, _everyone_ has problems.”

“That doesn’t make them any more palatable.” Deborah countered, holding herself as still as she could; she wasn’t quite holding her breath, but it was a close call. Her days of meeting men in bars were long gone, and in spite of the fluttering in her chest, she refused to accept that this man was had just decided to fall at her feet and play.

“Look at it this way…” the barman started, letting his hand fall out onto the bar, motioning decisively; he really was ploughing straight ahead, completely certain that he was going to convince her to talk to him.

“Deborah.” Deborah interjected, biting her tongue the next second as she dropped her gaze from his, but found herself incapable of looking around at the other customers that were flitting sluggishly around the bar; she could feel herself giving in to the lurching desire for company, as her determination to mope in private began to crawl in on itself.

“Harry.” The barman replied, batting his hand atop the desk; he shifted his arms and held her eye, and Deborah thought for a moment that he was going to leap into a practiced speech of some sort as determination made his smile fade just a tad, “Look at it this way; we’re both adults, so it would be stupid to pretend that we haven’t experienced some shitty, and horrible, things. What is it: love, kids, career?”

“All of the above.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes and pursing her lips; she couldn’t just give in, damn it, it wasn’t fair on anyone, no matter how willing her victim was, “And as I said before, I’m not divulging that to a stranger.”

“Then let’s stop being strangers.” Harry suggested, almost devilish in the way that he smirked and waggled his shoulders; there was no one on earth that could doubt his aptitude for flirting, however Deborah wasn’t so easily won.

“I think you just want to get me into bed.” Deborah remarked tartly, paying close attention to his reaction; if that was all he wanted, then he could leave her alone immediately. Any other night two years ago, and she might have been drunkenly flattered; now, the idea of spending more time than was necessary with anyone that wasn’t on her side…she didn’t need another fleeting attachment.

“Of course I do.” Harry replied, without missing a beat; Deborah could have sworn that she felt her heart sink, even though she had been praying that he leave her alone moments before, but he began speaking again, his voice turning soft, “But I’d like to get to know you too, and that’s always more fun when both parties are happy.”

Hardly a second could have passed, but Deborah counted enough to inhale and hold the air in her lungs, and for her eyes to widen imperceptibly as her mind fought against the lump in her throat. Misery made her resolve a fragile thing, and under the watchful and hopeful eye of the handsome man behind the bar…it crumbled.

“Alright…you talk about _you_ , and maybe I’ll talk about my job.” Deborah offered a compromise, slowly, tentatively; after her previous mistakes, she had to be careful, even if she only had one evening before the man was put off by her dreary demeanour, “If I’m not allowed to wallow in peace, then I’m not wallowing at all.”

“Great.” Harry replied cheerfully; with that, he lurched away from the bar, and a moment later he was marching around to take the stool next to hers.

oOoOoOo

The past month had been wonderful; or at least as close to wonderful that it was possible to get when one lived alone, worked for a ramshackle airline, was divorced, and was still arguing with their ex over the phone.

Despite Deborah’s insistence that she couldn’t deal with a relationship during that period in her life, accepting Harry’s offer of a chat was one of the best things that she could have done. At first it had just been nice having someone to talk to, someone to work through her problems with, and someone who was actually willing to listen…and he _did_ listen. Harry was old enough, and from the sort of background, that meant that he had seen his fair share of marriages break up, legal battles over children, and redundancies.

He didn’t judge her, and Deborah hadn’t felt the need to force coolness or a casual façade; of course, she was as witty and smooth as always, but at no point had she pretended that she was perfect…and yet, Harry seemed to think that she was. Harry thought that she was beautiful, and sexy, and he loved her sense of humour; he thought that she was terrific in the way that she handled her personal problems, and was fascinated by her shoddy career.

On the first day, Harry had somehow managed to charm her. Deborah had talked and talked, made sarcastic remarks and listened to him describing himself, and asking after her. He was…nice…it was…nice, having someone actually _like_ her, and desire her company. His eyes had lingered over her face, and his smile hadn’t faded, and as the night passed, Deborah found that the withdrawn weight in her chest was warmed and alleviated until there was nothing there save the pleasant hum of being admired.

They hadn’t gone home together. That was the one thing that Deborah had been absolutely determined not to do; Harry respected that…but he got her number, and promised to call her the next day, just to say hello. Say hello he did, and asked her out for coffee, claiming that he wanted to bask in her radiance a little longer; those hadn’t been his exact words, but Deborah felt as if they could have been…for the first time in a long while, she actually felt special.

Special, without the discomfort that often came with it. Harry thought that she was funny, and exciting despite the pitfalls that she had made _very_ clear...and despite her determination to remain honest, Deborah couldn’t help embellishing, ever so slightly.

Coffees led to dinner, and before she knew it, Deborah was in a relationship. It was cosy, and comforting, and they talked about their days, and their weeks, and their plans for the near future. For once, it didn’t feel as if everything was running away from her. MJN was stable…ish…Chris had no plans to leave Cumbria, which meant that visits were becoming more of a certainty rather than a conditional event…and Harry was there.

Harry was nothing special; pleasant, hard-working, and enjoyable to be around. But the way that he made Deborah feel, as if _she_ were special…that was impossible to let go of. Finally she was doing something right, all on her own, and she hadn’t needed to call her brother for help in over a year.

Life was good enough that Deborah was content, on a Friday afternoon, to sweep through the paperwork, chat with Arthur while Carolyn grouched at her lawyers through her phone, and be ready to leave with everything sorted out in time for tea. Work wasn’t quite so dreary when there was something to look forward to on the other end.

“Are you doing anything later?” Arthur asked, as he clicked idly at Deborah’s computer; he had commandeered it to design a website, and it had seemed prudent to leave him to do so without interference, as it kept the smile on his face, and his hands out of anything important, “Because, I thought that if you were going to teach me how to bake those fairy cakes, today might be a good day-”

“I’m busy tonight, actually.” Deborah replied, sparing him a fleeting glance as she signed off on the end of her report; their last customer was pleased with the flight, and was thinking of signing a contract, but wanted all sorts of forms and reports written up before they would agree to anything, “But I’m free over the weekend, if you want to come and utilise my kitchen.”

“Oh, alright.” Arthur beamed, preening as he always did at the slightest show of attention; the movement of his hands over the keyboard ceased, and just like that his attention was diverted, “What are you doing tonight?”

“I’ve got a date.” Deborah answered, unable to stop herself from smirking with a faint flicker of pride, though she did try not to keep her eyes down for the sake of quiet dignity, rather than boasting; she had to admit, if only inwardly, there was something about being adored that boosted one’s ego rather nicely.

“So that’s why you’ve been looking so cheerful lately.” Carolyn remarked wryly, from where she was sitting on the sofa with her feet propped up on a cardboard box that Arthur hadn’t disposed of when they had unpacked the new printers; her phone was lying on the cushions beside her, but there was no doubt that it would be ringing before she had time to truly enjoy teasing her employee, “I thought you might be on drugs.”

“No, not drugs I’m afraid.” Deborah retorted, as she clicked the lid on her pen and sat back, kicking her feet up to rest on the bar underneath her desk; dignity aside, it couldn’t hurt to be just a little bit openly proud of herself, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Is he nice?” Arthur inquired; he folded his arms and propped them up atop the desk, blinking at her, rapt with attention. Anyone else might have been asking just to be polite, but there was no doubt that he actually wanted to know, although Deborah couldn’t begin to imagine why.

“Very nice; lovely in fact.” Deborah replied, conscious all the while of the warmth that was seeping from her chest to the smile on her face; it was embarrassing, but she was a hopeless romantic, and the thought of Harry made her fidget and fiddle, to the point where she didn’t even care that Carolyn was going to mock her, “He thinks I’m wonderful.”

“Aw, that sounds great.” Arthur mused, sighing thoughtfully; for once, he was absolutely correct, “He’s right; you are brilliant.”

“Don’t let your head get too big though.” Carolyn interjected, shooting her a sharp glare; her tone was weary, worn out from hours of debate, but she could never pass over the chance to leer like a shark and draw a few shreds of enjoyment, “I still own you, no matter how many nice things this fool is saying about you.”

“He says a lot of nice things, none of which can be punctured by your prickly charm, Carolyn.” Deborah replied curtly, her good mood irreversible as she smirked all the more; Harry asked her on date after date, and each time, they spent longer and longer in each other’s company, and that was perfect, “He doesn’t even care that I’m the only pilot at a poxy airline that can’t leave Europe.”

“Enjoy the time that you have with this man.” Carolyn instructed, ignoring the veiled insult; she had been getting a lot of practice in recent months, in tandem with their growing rapport, “I’m upping the advertising for a new pilot, which means that soon, you’ll be spending far more time on my plane than swanning around receiving compliments.”

“Good.” Deborah chimed, folding her arms over her chest just as Carolyn’s phone began to ring, and the other woman groaned and rolled her eyes; this rhythm that they were reaching after two years of acquaintance was fun, Deborah supposed, but there was always room for change, “The flight-deck’s boring on my own.”

oOoOoOo

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry exclaimed with a muted vigour, between sips of his beer; he had listened to Deborah talk about Carolyn’s ventures in hiring a captain without complaint, and didn’t hold back in making his opinions clear as they both sat back on the sofa, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, “It doesn’t matter who she hires; you’d make a better captain any day.”

It felt good to be able to vent her feelings; not that Deborah really cared about being captain. It would have been nice to have all of her stripes back, but the thrill of being in command had lost its novelty now that there was no one to impress, and no boozing façade to bolster with a symbolic position of authority. That Harry was willing to spend their evening at her house talking about it, about something of actual importance instead of the nonsense that was often swapped on dates, was a comforting sign that their relationship was going somewhere.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Deborah inquired coyly, shifting so that she was more comfortably arranged in the crook of Harry’s elbow; perhaps it was simply her affections putting down stronger roots, but she was sure that with closeness, he had become that much more attractive and funny…that was something, “The longer I spend flying, the less time we get to spend together…and I am enjoying the time that we spend together.”

“Oh…it’s my pleasure.” Harry assured her, giving her waist a little squeeze; he didn’t sound surprised at all by her small declaration, and returned it, unabashed, “I love spending time with you.”

“I mean it though.” Deborah continued, clearing her throat when Harry snorted and leaned forwards to place his beer on her coffee table; she didn’t often talk about her feelings, however fresh they were, even though Harry was constantly discussing them, so she had to snatch the opportunity while it was on her mind, “You’ve been…more supportive than I have any right to deserve.”

“Hey; who’s really reached our age and not had marital problems, or issues with their kids?” Harry remarked, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head; for all that he adored her, he was never…he had never been married, and he had no children, and sometimes, every now and then, it felt as if he were disregarding her problems with the sympathy that he possessed,  “It’s not your fault.”

“It…it’s not just an ‘issue with my kid’.” Deborah replied, biting her tongue against the solidifying weight that settled in her guts; she shifted back, leaned away just a fraction, so that she could fix Harry’s expression in her direct line of sight. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t understand…and she didn’t want to start an argument.

“I know, I’m sorry; really, I am.” Harry amended his statement hastily, to Deborah’s relief; there was still something careless about his tone, but he had to be given the chance, “I guess it’s just harder for me to understand, because I’ve never had kids, or wanted them really…but I do feel for you, and I wish you could spend more time with your daughter.”

“Thank you.” Deborah spoke slowly, inhaling in order to calm the indignant shards in her throat; accepting that he was trying to be nice, that it was early days, and that she couldn’t expect to share all of her deepest emotions with him, she settled back down into Harry’s arms. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite recapture the comfort of before; it felt too forced.

“She’s sweet.” Harry noted, referring to her daughter; Deborah had introduced them the week before, when Chris had conceded to drop in when he and his girlfriend were passing through the area, and…they got along. Harry wasn’t good with children, but he tried.

“Yes, she is.” Deborah agreed; she pulled Harry’s arm more tightly around her waist, fiddling with his sleeve, and then sighed, blinking hard to push away any lingering doubts, “I’m sorry, this is depressing.”

“No it’s not.” Harry insisted, batting his free hand through the air before pushing it into his hair and slouching imperceptibly into the sofa; he looked down into Deborah’s eyes, and spoke more softly, as if realising that he had overstepped, “It’s my fault for bringing the subject up.”

“What did you have planned for tonight?” Deborah asked sharply, ignoring his last statement; it was still early, and she didn’t want to waste the evening with bickering, or pouring her heart out to him…they could still have fun, “Something romantic I hope; I do always love your grand gestures.”

oOoOoOo

It had been a few weeks since the last interviewee had stormed out of the porta-cabin, so they were well overdue today’s man. Carolyn’s voice didn’t rise above a shout, but even through the closed door, Deborah and Arthur could hear the retired pilot raging over the shoddy contracts that Carolyn had drawn up as they played cards over the empty desk.

The door to Carolyn’s office slammed open, and the wrinkled man in his dusty suit stormed into the middle of the room. He turned on his heel as Carolyn appeared in the doorway and fixed him with a derisive glare, arms folded, lips pursed, completely unfazed by his fury.

“I never wanted to be a part of your damn company anyway.” The man snapped, pointing a shaking hand at her from across the room; he could have been angry about anything from Carolyn’s suggested wage to working hours, it didn’t matter when he was quite obviously not getting the job, “Your whole set-up is pathetic; I could get better than this working in a barn!”

He marched himself out of the door, and the whole porta-cabin shook as it slammed and cut out the outside world. Carolyn rolled her eyes and huffed, and didn’t say a word as she returned to her office.

“Did he look like the sort of person you’d want to work with?” Deborah asked Arthur, as she swept the cards back into her hands and began shuffling them; despite her eagerness to have some company on long flights, Deborah had realised very quickly that her standards sober were far higher than her standards when drunk.

“Um…not really.” Arthur replied, wincing as if saying something negative about another person physically pained him; he stole a glance over his shoulder, towards the door, “He was a bit shouty, wasn’t he?”

“That he was.” Deborah agreed, nodding sagely; she shuffled the cards a few more times, and then changed her mind, “Do you know how to play chess, Arthur?”

“No, but I’d love to learn.” Arthur sat forwards, fidgeting excitedly in his seat; up for anything, as always. He would have to go hunting for a chess set; it would buy Deborah the time to speak to Carolyn, at the very least.

oOoOoOo

It was bewildering, but romantic, Deborah supposed; she was always one to swoon when presented with romance in its barest form, so she hadn’t complained once when Harry had insisted that they dress up and hop in the car to go for dinner in the next town. Now though, that the thrill had worn off, and she was beginning to wonder what was going on. Deborah was going to play it cool though.

“I realise that Fitton’s not the most elegant of towns, but was it really necessary to leave it for the sake of dinner?” Deborah inquired, as she fingered her glass of water and turned the cool edge of her fork over between the fingers of her other hand; she met Harry’s eyes across the table, and felt confident in being honest, “I was looking forward to a quiet night in.”

“Yeah, but this is better.” Harry retorted, confident as always that he was right; he swirled his glass of wine, but his gaze followed Deborah’s every movement over the space between them, as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, “You look beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you.” Deborah preened, shivering her shoulders imperceptibly under his gaze; her thin cardigan kept out the breeze from the air-conditioning, but something about the way that Harry was looking at her made her feel as if she were under observation, so she compensated with drawling self-assuredness, “I couldn’t let you take me out to dinner and then not stun you now, could I?”

“No, that wouldn’t do.” Harry replied, chuckling faintly as he shook his head; the he placed his glass down and joined his hands together over the table, leaning in with the sort of serious expression that made the air in Deborah’s lungs still, and her good mood freeze, “Really though…I love you, I do. And I love spending time with you, dressed up or not.”

“I love you too.” Deborah assured her, tentatively and completely unsure of where he was going with this; she had an inkling, and it would be a lie to say that she hadn’t understood the tone of his statement…if he was being openly affectionate, then it was only fair that she do the same, “I can honestly say that my life has been looking up since we met….so thank you…again.”

“Don’t thank me.” Harry instructed hastily, giving his hand a little wave as if to brush off her concern; he reached across the table and took her hands, and Deborah forced herself not to pull away and demand to know what was wrong with him as a small voice in the back of her head whispered its suspicions, “You know, Debbie, my life’s been better too. It’s been good. I’ve been thinking lately that…it might be nice to make it even better.”

“How do you mean?” Deborah asked, wanly, holding herself as still as possible; it was a hard fought battle not to break eye contact and gaze about at the other customers, in the hope that they might offer some sort of respite.

“I mean…how do you feel about making things a bit more permanent?” Harry explained, badly, if Deborah had to give him points for it; he swallowed hard, the first sign that he was nervous, before carrying on, “We’re both happy, why not stay happy? Settle down…we’ve both got jobs, we practically live together anyway, it was lonely before we knew each other, but now it’s not…with everything that’s gone on in your life, I reckon you could use something stable to come back to.”

“What are you going on about?” Deborah demanded, as gently as she could manage; she knew exactly what he wanted, and she could feel her eyes widening as he released her hands and slipped his own into the inside pocket of his suit. Harry wasn’t like the men that she had dated before; he was mature, and had lived, and even though he wasn’t a fan of children, he was the sort of man that liked security and comfort, and being in a relationship. So Deborah knew exactly what he wanted.

Harry pulled a small box from inside his jacket, and then, even as Deborah began frantically shaking her head and glaring pointedly at the other customers and the waiters, slipped from his seat until he was kneeling on the floor beside her chair.

“Debbie…will you marry me?” Harry asked, raising his hands and opening to box so that she could see the ring that nestled within, glinting off the lights overhead; he gazed up at her, and again, his steadfast confidence seemed to falter, “Not just because we love each other, but so that we both have something to settle down in. I know that’ll make things easier for you and your daughter, and…it might be nice.”

“It…it might be.” Deborah agreed, nodding slowly; she let her hand drop to trace the tips of her fingers over the top of the ring, and then withdrew them and inhaled deeply, calming herself, letting rationality make some sort of impression on the situation, even though it was being resolutely choked by the hope that blossomed at the base of her throat, “You…you want to settle down with me? Really?”

After everything that she had been through, settling down sounded…perfect. Of course, she had never considered settling down with Harry but…he did make her feel like she was the most incredible thing in the world, especially when he looked at her the way that he was in that moment.

“Yes. Debbie, I think you’re terrific.” Harry replied, smiling weakly as his hands shook imperceptibly; just like that, he managed to make Deborah’s heart leap just a fraction, and warmth tingle in her chest, “You really are, incredible, the way that you’re still so strong and unique after everything you’ve been through. I want to be the one that looks after you, and makes you happy again.”

“Yes.” Deborah blurted, before she could carefully close her mouth and regain her composure; maybe it wasn’t the fairy-tale, all encompassing type of love that infected every sense and drove her insane with thoughts about how much she hated but loved him…Deborah had come to realise that that didn’t exist. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough that they could be happy.

“Yes?” Harry repeated, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Deborah replied, allowing herself to smile warmly, and unguardedly as she leaned forwards and took his hands in hers, watching realisation dawn on Harry’s face. Sometimes, it worth just letting go and accepting that life wasn’t going to get any better; so why not enjoy what was there?

oOoOoOo

The wedding had been a brief, simple affair, with few guests and few expenses spared; after the last time, Deborah hadn’t been keen on the idea of a huge fuss, and Harry, for all that he wanted to settle down and make the most of their life, hadn’t wanted more than a registry office, beautiful clothes, and the paper to sign. It wasn’t the wedding that mattered after all, it was everything that came afterwards.

It was nice though, having Harry move into her house with her, setting up routines, having someone that she knew would be there every night, be it for talking, snuggles, or whatever either of them needed.

It also meant that Deborah could have the best of both worlds; on the one hand she had a nice home life and a husband that was there whatever the weather, and on the other, she had a career that she was actually enjoying despite the lack of a captain. Two and a half years, and Deborah was finally beginning to appreciate MJN for what it really was. Instead of a career that had her flying all over the world at ridiculous hours, with different people every day, unable to settle, she had two people that she was familiar with and dare she say it, friends with, the same plane every flight, the promise of a hotel room and no expectations…freedom, for the first time.

“Good news!” Carolyn announced cheerfully, as she entered the Cabin and strode down the aisle to take the seat opposite Deborah’s; she didn’t question why Deborah had decided to stay aboard GERTI and keep Arthur company as he hoovered, which was unusually tactful of her, “We have flights every other day this week. The money’s rolling in.”

“Excellent!” Deborah replied brightly, looking up as the whirring of the vacuum cleaner ceased, and Arthur ambled down the aisle to join them; a busy week meant lots of fun on the flight-deck, if she could convince Arthur to take part in her less intellectually straining games, “I could do with a little extra spending money. None of these clients are expecting two pilots?”

“No, not at all.” Carolyn assured her, shaking her head and rubbing her hands together; it was at times like these that she actually looked her age, as the realisation that she could no longer be picky over who she hired was beginning to sink in, “Although, I need to find _someone_. Anyone will do.”

“But surely the people coming in to interview will see how many jobs we’re getting, and they’ll know that we’re a proper airline.” Arthur suggested thoughtfully, probably digging into the deepest part of his mind as he leaned against the next row back, one had still resting atop the vacuum cleaner that he had dragged in his wake.

“That’s what I’m hoping.” Carolyn muttered wanly, looking between the two of them with a grave expression on her face; there was no denying that she was feeling the pressure, they all were, but that was nothing to worry about. They would survive, piece by piece.

“But if nothing turns up, you can carry on sleeping soundly on the knowledge that I’m perfectly capable of keeping the business going.” Deborah remarked confidently, plastering on a smile; they would be fine, of that she was absolutely certain, she would make sure of it, “As much as I would like company, I’m not about to fret over the lack of it.”

“Well, it’s a busy week this week.” Carolyn acknowledged, without her usual snark; it was almost as if she was beginning, after all that time, to trust her only real employee, “I’m expecting your A-game.”

“I’ll hasten to deliver.” Deborah drawled, smirking as she felt a stab of pride at being the only one on the plane that had the ability to make their flights a success; then she slipped to her feet and addressed them both, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to call Harry and let him know that he can add these jobs onto the calendar.”

oOoOoOo

It had only been ten minutes, and Harry was sitting at his desk on the opposite side of the room, yet somehow, when Deborah made her way back into the living room after signing for a parcel, it was to find that her two and a half year old daughter had abandoned her paintbrushes and decided to adopt a more hands on approach to her art. It wasn’t exactly a problem, and the sight made Deborah’s whole being light up with a warmth that tingled through her pores, but the thought did occur that she would have to have a bath before Chris returned.

It was the first time that he had allowed her to look after Verity on her own, if only for a day, at the end of which, he was going to take her home. Apparently he had been impressed enough by her settling down with a husband to consider more lenient visits, not that that meant a lot in the long run.

“Oh _look_ …aren’t you a messy beast?” Deborah cooed as she crossed the room and lowered herself down in front of the coffee table, pulling her daughter into her lap and only just avoiding the toddler’s arm in her face as it swung in circles; there was paint all over her arms, and part of her face, and even crusted into her soft dark curls, but that didn’t stop Deborah from smiling more genuinely than she had in months, as she cuddled the little girl close and pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling slowly as she did so, “Still beautiful though, _aren’t you_? Aren’t you?”

“Mummy, mmee, ook, look!” Verity demanded, pounding her paint covered palm upon a sheet of paper, and then pulling it back to reveal a patchy imprint of her hand in its centre; she grinned proudly, and murmured to herself as children often did, but she didn’t cease in her efforts to turn her mother’s head to inspect her work.

“Yes, they’re wonderful sweetheart.” Deborah purred, shifting her daughter atop her lap so that she could reach across and press her own hand into the puddle of paint that Verity had managed to create in the middle of her easel; she then pressed it onto the paper, beside Verity’s hand print, “And look…if I put my hand there, you can see mine.”

“Boo!” Verity declared excitedly, patting her hand frantically over the picture; she was so excited, all the time, and Deborah would never be able to get over how happy she could be around her when she was barely even there, “Mummy-is boo!”

“It’s blue, yes.” Deborah told her, nodding and beaming, as she tapped Verity’s hand print; her daughter was so clever already, and her pride was insurmountable, “What colour’s your hand? What colour is this?”

“Vetty’s green!”  Verity exclaimed, eyes wide and mouth agape as if this were the revelation of the century; Deborah supposed, for someone so young, it probably was, and she couldn’t help but be swept away by her joy, “Mummy’s boo, an-Vetty’s green.”

“ _Yes_.” Deborah cooed, snuggling a little closer; hoping that she might share some of her happiness, she turned her head to call over her shoulder, leaning to compensate as Verity lurched forwards to dip her hands in the paint once again, “Harry…Harry!”

“Yeah?” Harry replied, looking up from his newspaper; he had been filling out the puzzles, looking for new jobs, going online, all manner of things, since Verity had arrived; it was okay though, as just as he didn’t warm to children, Verity was content to ignore this new man’s presence completely and focus entirely upon her mother, “You alright?”

“I’ve got a game.” Deborah offered, smirking as Harry raised his eyebrow; it had been a while since she had been able to play properly, owing mostly to Arthur’s ineptitude, but she was in a good mood, “Famous painters whose names sound like something else.”

“No, I’m good thanks.” Harry turned her down, just like that, with a shake of his head; there was nothing off about his tone, nothing dismissive or rude, and yet somehow, it felt as if he had punctured the light mood that she had extended to him. Deborah had only tried her word games with him twice, too distracted by everything else that had been going on…she hadn’t even realised that she had neglected to pay much attention to his reaction.

“Oh, come on.” Deborah attempted one last time to get him to play, curling her fingers into the material of Verity’s dress as she burbled and splatted paint here and there; even though Harry’s attention was clearly on his paper, Deborah couldn’t help but feel as if dejection were worming itself into an otherwise perfect moment, taking root in her abdomen and leeching upwards, though she played it off casually, “Why won’t you play with me?”

“I know you like these games, Debbie, but they’re a bit silly.” Harry explained, as if that were a reasonable excuse for not wanting to play, or to engage in an intellectual joust; if she had been anyone else, Deborah might have thought so too, “I’ve got more important things on my mind at the moment.”

“Oh…okay…sorry.” Deborah conceded, somewhat weakly, even if she did hear her own voice as if from somewhere else; then she turned back and quickly caught Verity’s hand, wiping it on a sheet of spare paper, “Don’t eat that sweetheart; Daddy would throw a fit if I had to take you to A and E.”

That was the last time that Deborah tried to play anything resembling her games with Harry; she wanted to, often, but then a little voice in the back of her head would remind her how it felt when he said no. So she just didn’t ask. It wasn’t a high price to pay. After all, they loved each other…everything was good now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Gone were the days when Deborah would try to feign a work ethic; yes, she did her paperwork, but she had lost the drive to get up and appear her best, pottering about the porta-cabin in the hope that Carolyn might walk in and discover that she was in fact getting on with things. In fact, unless they had a client, Carolyn didn’t seem to care if she walked in to find Deborah and Arthur slouched on the sofa throwing paper aeroplanes at each other; as they were doing when she marched from her office, perfectly coifed and buzzing with activity.

“Alright you two; today’s the day.” Carolyn announced, batting an aeroplane away as it soared past her ear, and Arthur gasped; Deborah sat up from where she had kicked her feet onto the sofa, and made the minimal effort required to appear ready for action, “The new Captain is coming in later, so I want you both on your best behaviour.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed, clapping his hands together and hopping back so that he could sit atop the empty desk; he was grinning, and obviously had no idea that the sort of washed up pilot that turned up at their interviews weren’t always as nice as she was, “Is he nice?”

“He is qualified and willing, which is the best that we can hope for.” Carolyn sighed, meeting Deborah’s eye as she strode across the room and lowered herself into the wheelie chair that Arthur had commandeered from somewhere; there was no mistaking the distaste, and the warning that her expression held, “Both of you are to do as he says until he’s settled enough to put up with you.”

“I’m _always_ on my best behaviour.” Deborah drawled, allowing herself to fall forwards and rest with her wrists on her knees, her chin on the backs of her knuckles; she had spent years pandering to the petty demands of her colleagues, although she had thought that at MJN her dignity was to remain intact. If it meant that the company stayed afloat and she got to stay with Carolyn and Arthur, she supposed that she could endure the miserable reality of allowing new people into their fold.

“I’d hate to see you at your worst.” Carolyn remarked, then she shook her head and sighed; it was a sign of how dire their situation was that she let them see how stressful her search for a captain had been, “I mean it, Deborah; I let you get away with that trade in Belgium only because it wasn’t dangerous or particularly illegal. But if I see you trying anything with this new pilot, then it’ll be him or you.”

“But I’ve worked here longer.” Deborah retorted; she didn’t really believe that Carolyn meant what she said, but there was still the little voice in the back of her head that was waiting for the carpet to be pulled from under her feet, and her job withdrawn due to personal reasons beyond her control.

“You wouldn’t really sack Deborah would you?” Arthur implored, his eyebrows leaping to his hairline as he stared at his mother; if there was one person that she could rely upon to fight her corner, then he was it, “She’s one of us now.”

“I will do whatever’s best for the company.” Carolyn informed him, shooting Deborah a pointed glare, as if to tell her that she _had_ been paying attention to her recent bout of laziness; she waved her arm through the air, bidding them farewell, “Now, go and smarten up, both of you. I want him to think that we’re the best of the best, which means no slouching until at least his third week.”

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, sighing in relief as he slid to his feet and tugged at the edges of his uniform; then his eyes lit up as he shuffled on his heels, raising his hands into the air as if caught by a flash of inspiration, “Should I find a hat as well – or I could make one!”

“Don’t even think about it.” Carolyn scolded him, grimacing at the thought; in all fairness, the very last thing that they needed was for Arthur and their new pilot to fall out on the first day because of his extreme cheeriness. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“You know, Carolyn, you haven’t actually told us much about this new man at all.” Deborah noted bleakly, unable to stop herself from drawing it out just a tad longer than was necessary; they were all tired, but there was no need to stop having fun, especially in the midst of their worrying over the new man on GERTI, “Are you afraid that we won’t like _him_.”

“Of course not.” Carolyn replied, a little too hastily, and a little too curtly, eyes darting towards the carpet; that explained everything; she wasn’t worried about them, she was just sick of dealing with whichever horrible man she had employed and wanted to shaft him off on them, “Now, hop to it.”

“Come on Arthur.” Deborah sighed, hoisting herself up from the sofa; she ushered Arthur to her side, and hooked her arm through his, marching him towards the door, lowering her voice so that Carolyn wouldn’t hear, “If you’re quick, then I’ll keep my mouth shut about you making a hat.”

“Thanks Deborah.” Arthur whispered, ducking his head so that he the air through which Carolyn could hear them was only partially reduced; he pulled the door open and held it there so that she could exit first, beaming deviously, red in the cheeks, “You’re the best.”

She was the best, Deborah mused; better than their new captain sounded by all means. Not that Carolyn had been forthcoming. There were a myriad of reasons for her keeping him a mystery, not all of them good. That was alright though…Deborah knew how to handle herself, that was what life was all about after all. And she had Arthur…Arthur would remain cheerful no matter how awful things got.

On second thoughts, Deborah was beginning to dread their new colleague.

oOoOoOo

** Captain #1 **

Hamish Enright was…old. That alone wasn’t exactly a problem. The problem was that he was the sort of old man that was far past the point where it was safe to have him on board, and right on the point in which he thought that he was god’s gift to the world, and that his word was gospel compared to the petty views of his younger colleagues. It was only his first day on the job, and yet he sat in the Captain’s seat, like a wrinkled caricature from the nineteen-forties, daring to condescend to everyone around them. If Carolyn had been there, she wouldn’t have been able to hold her tongue.

“So, what’s your history as a pilot?” Enright inquired gruffly once they had completed the post take-off checks and were in the air; it was the first non-professional thing that he had said to Deborah since they had met, and even as the words left his mouth, he barely looked at her, “What sort of experience are you bringing to the table?”

“Oh…I’ve been a pilot since I was nineteen.” Deborah replied wanly, eyeing him from where she sat, slouched in her seat, leaning to one side so that she could keep one hand near the controls; if she was pouting and petulant, then it was because he, in his ‘superior’ authority, had denied her the right to operate out, “I’ve worked for some smaller airlines, but most of my career was spent as a Captain at Air England.”

“I see.” Enright acknowledged, nodding sagely and rubbing his wisp of a beard with the tips of his fingers, as if that gave him all of the information that he needed; it was the same tone of voice that had set Deborah’s teeth on edge for years, and it made any olive branches that she might have been willing to offer him fade into nothingness.

“What do you _see_?” Deborah asked, hoping, for the sake of their working relationship, that he didn’t say what she thought he would; the chances were slim, but it would be wrong of her to begin hating him without good reason.

“Nothing. I’ve got nothing against women in the flight-deck, don’t worry.” Enright chuckled, even though it wasn’t at all funny; he still barely spared her a glance, instead speaking grandly into the sky, withered hands tapping purposefully against the controls, “No one thought that Mrs Thatcher could manage it, but she was a fine Prime Minister, woman or not.”

“That’s good to know.” Deborah replied tautly, inhaling slowly in order to calm herself, dropping her gaze to follow her fingers as she tugged at her epaulets; she was going to hate him, of that she was now sure. But…they needed him, so she could be good. She had dealt with worse before.

Mercifully, the door to the flight-deck clanked open, and Arthur appeared, two mugs clutched in his hands. The perfect distraction. Deborah honestly believed in that moment, as she turned and peered at him over the back of her seat, that she could survive years of the boring old man so long as Arthur remained in the flight-deck to keep her company…on every flight…for the rest of her career.

“Hello chaps.” Arthur chimed, bouncing on his heels as he reached over their chairs and placed the steaming mugs into their hands; his smile was wide and his excitement was tangible, as he hadn’t even had a chance to get to know Enright properly yet, “Here’s your tea, and coffee.”

“Thank you Arthur.” Deborah purred, as she accepted her drink; she made a show of taking a sip, and of sighing in pleasure, even though she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from spitting it out, “Oooh, almost perfect this time; well done.”

“Yes, thank you.” Enright muttered, placing his mug down on the only flat part of the control panel; he didn’t spare Arthur a glance, just as he hadn’t been looking at Deborah.

“You’re welcome.” Arthur replied cheerfully; he relaxed between the two seats, hands clasped in front of him as he looked between the two pilots. He was expecting conversation, that much Deborah knew; except, Enright wanted to be in charge, so he was going to have to run the show for the time being, while she sat back and observed.

A moment passed, in which there was nothing but silence and the whirring of the engines. Then Enright turned and looked Arthur in the eye.

“Thank you.” Enright repeated, pointedly, his wrinkled chin wobbling as he spoke; to anyone else, the dismissal would have been obvious, but he didn’t know yet who he was speaking to.

“You’re welcome.” Arthur echoed his last reply, blinking obliviously, smile never fading; it was the sort of harmless cheeriness that made Deborah suddenly feel quite defensive, and had her sitting a little straighter, hands falling to the arms of her seat in case she had to step in.

“You shouldn’t be in the flight-deck while we’re in the air.” Enright snapped, when Arthur didn’t take the hint; Arthur’s face fell, but that only served to rile the captain up, as he waved an impatient hand through the air and tried to bat Arthur away from the back of the seats, “Off with you.”

“Oh…sorry.” Arthur had never sounded quite so dejected, and his smile threatened to turn into a frown despite the glimmer of hope still in his eyes; he turned and rocked on his heels taking slow steps towards the back of the flight-deck, stealing glances at Deborah until he realised that nothing could be done, “I’ll just, um…I’ll just go then.”

As the door shut behind Arthur, Deborah watched the metal panel with a frown on her lips, and her brow furrowed, before slowly lowering herself back down; she could always get snappish with Arthur, over this and that, but there was something uncomfortable about having him dismissed by someone else, someone that didn’t know him, and wasn’t taking the time to.

“Don’t you think that was a bit harsh?” Deborah inquired, curtly, so as not to sound insulted or too emotionally affected; she kept her eyes down, and picked at the threads on the arm of her chair, pulling them from the cushion with a violent tug, “Arthur’s always come up the front with me when we’re in flight.”

“Well he won’t be now that I’m here.” Enright replied, unaffected as he flicked one of the controls and cleared his throat, staring out into the sky; he looked just like the first captain that Deborah had ever flown with.

“But even in larger airlines, the cabin crew is welcome-” Deborah continued, as if he hadn’t spoken; he didn’t let her finish though, and she had to physically bite at the inside of her cheek to stop herself from snapping at him or reaching across the space between them to slap him.

“We mustn’t let propriety slip, now, should we?” Enright retorted cheerfully, in that falsely reasonable tone of voice that made Deborah want to dig her claws into his face; he finally turned his head to look at her properly, and she immediately wished that he hadn’t, for his sake.

There was no way in hell that she was letting him stay in her flight-deck.

oOo

“Have you been reading the papers lately?” Deborah trilled, batting her eyelashes at Enright across the flight-deck as he adjusted their height and speed; she had been working up to this, listening to every ridiculous word that left his mouth and devising the perfect way to make him remove himself from her presence. She wasn’t going to lift a finger.

He would be gone within the week, and Arthur could come back to the flight-deck; it wasn’t a step up in terms of conversational value, but she would rather have a million Arthur’s in the Captain’s seat that a single old and bigoted pilot.

“Only religiously.” Enright replied haughtily, in that superior tone of voice that made him all the more odious, far more so than the snotty millionaire that had booked them for _another_ flight only a week ago; his wrinkles wobbled as he spoke, and she could barely stand to look at him for more than a few seconds lest he think that she held an inkling of true affection for him, “Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” Deborah assured him, rolling her shoulders back and pushing her hair behind her ears, keeping her smile fixed; remaining as feminine and annoying as possible, that was all part of the scheme…it would all knit together in the end,  “I was just fascinated by that story in the Mail yesterday about immigrants.”

“I _did_ see that.” Enright remarked gruffly, his interest blatant; it reminded Deborah of a particularly wrinkled dog huffing before it dug its teeth into the edge of the carpet and refused to let go, “And I must say-”

“I think it was a complete load of rubbish.” Deborah interrupted, quick and simple, without another word of explanation; she offered him one final fluttering glance, before turning her head and staring out into the sky, folding her arms over her chest and squaring her jaw.

“Excuse me!” Enright exclaimed, his eyes blowing wide; he even seemed to startle in his seat, hands flying with a thud to the arms, clasping uselessly at the hard padding as for the first time in the weeks that he had worked for MJN, he took his eye off the ball, staring at her as if she had insulted his mother.

“I think that they were completely wrong.” Deborah elaborated, when she was sure that he had had enough time to fume, and for his suspicions to grow; he was the most old fashioned bigot she had ever met, no matter what he said, and wore the buttons she would need to press on his sleeve, “About the potential restrictions and vice versa. If I were running the country, I’d happily let in anyone who wanted to live here, regardless of race.”

“Codswallop.” Enright scoffed, shaking his head in an attempt to laugh it off; he ran a hand over his throat grumbled under his breath. Perfect.

“No, no, not at all.” Deborah countered, pleasantly, pretending that she was oblivious to his distress; she even felt confident enough to smirk and tip her chin ever so slightly into the air, “I even thought, as I was reading the article, that seeing as a lot of the immigrants that we get are so qualified when they get here, that they should really be allowed to take some of the jobs that are getting done badly over here. Why not make use of good hard working people?”

“Because, this is a British country, and the jobs should be going to British people!” Enright insisted, grouching and growling, hands curling into redundant fists; there was nothing that he could do but murmur and huff at her side, not while they were in flight.

“But so many Brits these days are so lazy.” Deborah drawled carelessly, curling her hand in a lazy motion in the space between them; that was sure to raise his hackles even more, “And of course, this nation was built on integration and equal opportunity. Yes, I say let everyone in!”

Enright couldn’t say a thing; her plan was working. Now all Deborah had to do was wait.

oOo

It had been a while since Deborah had lain back on the sofa and listened to shouting through the open door of Carolyn’s office, but she had to admit, she had rather missed it; it was so much more fun when there was room to see the argument taking place, and it was entirely her fault. If Arthur had been there, instead of cleaning GERTI, she might have struck up a fun little commentary for his sake.

“I’ve had it up to here with her.” Enright barked, making a slashing motion just above his head; his uniform was rumpled and his age was showing, but he had no issue standing in front of Carolyn, delivering this ultimatum after that ultimatum, clearly misunderstanding the fundamental level on which his employer functioned, “I’m afraid it’s her or me!”

“I haven’t had any complaints from Deborah.” Carolyn replied courteously, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes, a clear sign that she was maintaining her poise before closing her teeth around the throat of her prey. It was entirely true; Deborah had been careful not to make a single complaint, so that there was nothing that could be held against her, and no motive for the things that he was accusing her of.

“That’s because she’s the only one causing the problem.” Enright snapped, hurling a caustic glance over his shoulder, through the door of the office; she couldn’t be sure if he could actually see her, but he definitely knew that she was listening in as if the whole façade were some sort of joke.

“I’m sorry Hamish, but as I haven’t actually seen Deborah do anything wrong, I can’t punish her.” Carolyn didn’t sound sorry at all, as she pressed her hands together and smiled wanly, her shoulders rising into a little shrug; she was on Deborah’s side, even if she would never admit it, even if she didn’t want to have to start searching for another Captain, “If you don’t want to work with her, then that is entirely your problem.”

“This is disgraceful.” Enright huffed, his jowls quivering as he stood to his complete and unimpressive height, hands clenched at his sides; if he thought that indignation would get him anywhere, then he was wrong.

“I don’t pay you to like her.” Carolyn retorted dryly, as her eyes wandered towards the open door; Deborah smiled and waved, but said nothing. It wouldn’t do to complicate the situation after all.

“Then I’m out.” Enright stated plainly, clipping his heels together as if to impress upon Carolyn the seriousness of his decision; when she only stared at him, and then raised her hand towards the door, he scowled, but turned his back on her and marched from the office, raising his voice so that he could be heard by everyone, the last resort of all MJN’s victims, “I’m not spending another day listening to that woman’s waffle.”

Enright snatched his coat from Deborah’s coat rack, and stormed through the door in a way that he must have thought was dramatic, but Deborah found quite funny. As Carolyn walked into the room, sighing and dropping a stack of paperwork onto the now unclaimed desk, Deborah heaved herself from the cushions and folded her arms over her knees, smiling cheerfully up at her.

“If I find out that this was deliberate, then I won’t be happy.” Carolyn informed her curtly, as she came to stand over her, hands on her hips; she was perfectly intimidating in a way that Enright would never be, and but there was a glint in her eyes that stopped Deborah from fearing for her job. She had done the right thing, and Carolyn knew that, deep down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Deborah drawled, quirking her eyebrows and holding in a smirk; there was only so far that she could push her luck. Once Arthur was happy and spent most of his time on the flight-deck again, and Carolyn didn’t have to listen to the myriad of complaints that Enright had piled upon her, then everyone would appreciate the necessity of getting rid of him.

Deborah had done the right thing.

** Pilot #4 **

This new Captain set Deborah’s teeth on edge. It had only been two minutes in the same room as him, with Arthur taking up all of his time, but her skin was already crawling at the prospect of spending hours locked in a flying tin cupboard with him. He wasn’t ugly, and he wasn’t carrying an axe…but there was an air about him, in the way that his uniform sat on his shoulders and he held his head as if his nose were the most important thing in the world, that made her want to bite her tongue to stop herself from insulting him.

But she couldn’t hold himself against him, and no matter how much he reminded Deborah of some of the more insulting and presumptuous pilots at Air England, that was no reason not to be polite. It was a job, and the fact that he made her uncomfortable was not a good enough reason to be unwelcoming…it was a good reason to refuse his hand when he offered it, and to wrap her arms around her middle so that he couldn’t lean close enough that she could smell the mint on his breath.

“Hello, nice to meet you.” Deborah introduced herself, conscious of the foot of space between them as the Captain’s eyes skipped her face completely, dragged past her chest, and then finally reached her eyes; cool and calm and composed, she thought, cursing herself for having to employ such tactics _again_ …for the sake of the company…after all, it was her fault they had lost the last three, “I’m Deborah Richardson, your First Officer.”

“Richard Harlow, hello.” The Captain drawled, missing smooth a few miles south of sleazy as he visibly ran his tongue past his teeth; he tried to lean in as he spoke, but Deborah moved to compensate, “And it _is_ a _real_ pleasure to meet _you_ Miss Richardson.”

“ _Mrs_ Richardson.” Deborah corrected him, making sure to turn her hand over against her elbow so that he could see the ring; not that he looked, but it was worth the effort for future reference, “Have you met Arthur?”

“Yeah, we met when I got in.” Richard replied, oblivious to the fact that Deborah had watched him being harassed by their steward, as he was focused so entirely on looking her up and down; it was going to be a long, long journey to train him up in proper flight-deck etiquette, “So…how long have you been in this line of work?”

oOo

In all fairness, Deborah should have known that things were getting bad when she started spending more time in the Galley than in the flight-deck. It was the only way she could get any peace.

“I don’t even know what it is. He just gets under my skin.” Deborah muttered, curling her hands around the warmth of her mug, and taking a sip of coffee; she leaned against the counter in the Galley, listening to the still steady whirr of the engines, while Arthur leant against the other side and wound a tea towel between his hands, “Can’t you feel it?”

“I guess…I mean, he’s not…he hasn’t _done_ anything.” Arthur prevaricated, grimacing with the effort of saying something negative about another human being; he had never had any problems with Richard, but he wasn’t dim enough to miss how uncomfortable he made Deborah, and that alone was enough to make him realise that perhaps he wasn’t ‘brilliant’, though he’d never admit it, “I’m sure he’s just out of sorts because of being in a new job.”

“I don’t know.” Deborah sighed, gritting her teeth in frustration; she did know, she knew exactly what it was, but she couldn’t exactly ask to end the man’s career because he was a bit leery, and a bit too brash, and made her want to punch him in the face…that might well end her career, “I like to think I know people quite well, and…I don’t like him.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur hummed in agreement, nodding sagely and letting his eyes wander to the floor; he didn’t sound as if he understood, a fact compounded by the optimistic little bounce and hand motion that he made a second later, “It’ll all blow over though.”

“I hope so.” Deborah replied, taking another sip of her coffee, unable to think of what else she _could_ do; it would pass…hopefully…if the captain changed his personality.

With a jangle, Carolyn stormed through the curtain separating the Galley from the Cabin, and ground to a halt when she saw the scene before her. Arthur hopped as if in preparation for a task that didn’t exist, but Deborah simply nodded in acknowledgment and placed her mug on the counter behind her.

“Deborah, what are you doing in here?” Carolyn demanded, regaining her harried composure long enough to push past her pilot and dig beneath the counter for a pack of hand-wipes; as she straightened up, she batted Deborah’s arm and ushered her away from the Galley, “Get back in the flight-deck!”

“Richard’s doing my head in.” Deborah most definitely didn’t whine, as she folded her arms around her chest and shuffled into the closed doorway to the flight-deck; it was hardly a secret that she _really_ didn’t like him, but getting herself heard was another matter entirely.

“And the passengers are doing _my_ head in.” Carolyn replied, shaking her head and raising her hand decidedly; there was no arguing with her when she was in this kind of mood, “Get back in there and _do your job_ , or I’ll cut your pay.”

oOo

“You know what, Richard? I’ve actually got a bit of a headache.” Deborah remarked, half-way through one of his self-congratulating sentences, as she clutched her fresh mug of coffee for the sake of not throttling him; they had been in the air two hours now, and there were only about twenty minutes left, but he had finally pushed her to the point where she would rather sit with her back against the hard cushions of her seat, professional in a way that she never had been before, “Would you mind if we had a bit of silence?”

“Sure, whatever.” Richard replied smarmily, shooting her a smirk that she only saw out of the corner of her eye, and even that was reluctant, “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

And then he did something that Deborah was barely conscious of as it was happening, although the result was quite thrilling in the long run. One moment she felt his hand slip over her thigh, and the next she pursed her lips, rolled her eyes, and tipped her wrist to the side, flinging her scolding coffee at him.

“Ow!” Richard yelled, jumping to his feet and batting his hands from his stomach to his face; none of the liquid had touched his face, but a fair amount had soaked through his open jacket and shirt, and splashed across the neck that he had so daring left bare for the inspection of those around him.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your nose, do you understand?” Deborah inquired curtly, almost growling as she glared up at him, completely in control of herself, the situation, and the plane, even though she remained seated; she was quite sure she had never glared at anyone with quite so much hatred.

“Oi, you dozy cow!” Richard was still cursing and running his hands through his dripping uniform, shaking out his palms, which were looking more red than usual; he didn’t even look up when the flight-deck door banged open.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, looking wide-eyed and open-mouthed between the two of them as he stepped into the room and around the jump-seat, until he was standing with his hand on the back of Deborah’s seat; he sounded confused, bewildered, and at a loss as to how to deal with the situation without Carolyn, who had stayed in Fitton.

“What’s going on is that Captain Harlow is going to keep his hands to himself while I fly the plane to our destination.” Deborah explained, pointedly turning away from the captain so that she could check the control panel and ensure that they weren’t crashing; everything was fine, not that he had bothered to check.

“His hands?” Arthur repeated, lowering his gaze to Deborah alone; he wasn’t as slow as some people liked to think though, and her anger could have fuelled a small tank, so when his eyes narrowed and a frown appeared on his lips, it was obvious that he understood at least in theory what was going on, “What did he do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” Richard snapped, red faced and furious, pouting like a betrayed child; his head was still down, and he had conceded to trying to mop the liquid from his shirt with his hat, “Bloody woman’s mad. You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Wait, hold on.” Arthur instructed, somehow managing to raise his voice without shouting, although he did raise his hand into the air, and turn to stare at Richard in such a way that he was almost standing between the seats, his back to Deborah; it must have been that he was well over six foot, but somehow, even his confused indignation on her behalf was enough to make Richard fall silent, “What did he do?”

“Oh, nothing.” Deborah remarked coldly, rolling her eyes and folding one leg over the other; all she wanted to do was get on with flying the plane, get to their location, and forget that anything had happened, and yet she couldn’t help letting her bitterness escape, “He’s only running his hand up my leg _– no biggie_.”

“Hey!” Arthur exclaimed, shifting so that his hand was on the back of Deborah’s chair, and he was glaring down at Richard; he would never have laid a hand on him, but his childlike anger was compounded by the setting of his jaw into a frown, “You can’t do that!”

“Oi!” Richard made one last attempt at regaining control, snapping at Arthur before leaning down to hiss at Deborah on her level, “I’m the Captain, and I’ll have you for workplace harassment. This is out of order.”

“I doubt that.” Deborah drawled, bored of him already; she made a show of grasping a lever in her palm and sitting back, glaring at him with a prowess that she had mastered over the years, as she lifted her voice into a fractionally higher, and definitely more clipped, tenor, “Now, you can either sit down and let me fly, or get out.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Richard insisted, making a move to sit back down; his path was impeded however.

“Yes you are!” Arthur demanded, his anger making him shrill; he didn’t actually touch the captain, but he put his arm in the way and stood as tall as he could between Richard and Deborah, pointing red faced and furious towards the Galley, as if he couldn’t understand how anyone could be so rude, “Out! Leave her alone!”

It must have been the fact that he had to look _up_ to meet Arthur’s gaze, but Richard did as he was told, and marched himself, sulking like a teenager, from the flight-deck. Arthur followed behind, but only so that he could slam the door shut before striding back to drop into the Captain’s seat, pouting and tutting.

“I was handling that.” Deborah remarked, after a moment, when Arthur had stopped tutting and it seemed like something needed to be said; she was grateful, and rather touched at how mad he was, but the only way she could think of to say such a thing was to turn and smile wanly as she watched Arthur’s expression melt, and the tension leave his shoulders.

“Yeah, but he didn’t look happy.” Arthur retorted, with an air of authority that he didn’t often get to employ, mostly owing to the fact that he wasn’t often needed to do more than serve the drinks; then he frowned, and the light in his eyes was more serious, and almost hopeful, as he leaned across the space between them, “Mum won’t like that; she’ll get rid of him the moment she finds out.”

To Deborah’s surprise, Carolyn _did_ get rid of him the moment that both pilots reached the porta-cabin; Arthur must have run ahead to tell her what had happened. Whatever he had said, it had made an impression, and while Richard received the dressing down of his life, Deborah hooked her arm through Arthur’s and the two of them wandered back to GERTI to scavenge at the desserts left over from the flight.

oOoOoOo

** Pilot #9 **

For once, they seemed to have found a captain that wasn’t rude, sloppy, or incompetent. That said, Deborah could barely draw him into a conversation, and Arthur had resorted to perching on the sofa and watching him as if he were a lion in a documentary, skittish and likely to run away before his first day had even begun. They had never flown as a crew, and even Carolyn didn’t have much to say about him.

“So…your name’s Bill?” Deborah asked, hoping to strike up some sort of a conversation as she pulled her coat more tightly around her against the wind; they were all standing outside, underneath GERTI’s wing, waiting for the cargo to arrive via truck, and the greying, square faced man in his forties had barely said three words to her, “That’s nice.”

“Yep.” Bill nodded stiltedly, hands in pockets; he tipped his head towards the plane and took a half-step back, his lips curling into something that might have been an attempt at a jovial smile, but was in fact, more robotic than anything else, “I’m going to do the walk-around. I’ll see you on the plane.”

“Oh.” Deborah replied, forcing herself to be pleasant instead of confused; this one didn’t seem like he was going to be trouble, so all she had to do was be nice to him, and everything was going to be alright, “Alright then.”

“And you can operate out _and_ back if you like.” Bill added, almost as an afterthought, while he rocked on his heels; he was turning and starting to walk away from her before he had even finished speaking, “So that I can see how you work.”

“Well, I suppose.” Deborah agreed, feeling somewhat buoyed by the chance to fly both ways for once; she was never one to miss a chance to show off, and she was going to say something along those lines, but he was already far enough away that the wind would have eaten her words, “I’ll…see you on the plane.”

Unable to shake the feeling of redundancy and bewilderment, Deborah pursed her lips and glanced around for Carolyn; she standing just inside the hold, hands buried in her coat, an irritable glare adorning her face for the sake of the customers that were horrendously late.

“Carolyn, is Bill….” Deborah started to ask, catching the other woman’s attention, but she couldn’t quite decide how best to finish her sentence; scuffing her boots against the metal ramp leading into the hold, she changed her tactic, and went for humour, the only way to really save herself the embarrassment, “Is Bill?”

“I know, he’s a bit…odd.” Carolyn acknowledged, nodding and shifting to the side just enough that Deborah could wordlessly wedge herself into the entrance to the hold, away from the greater gusts of wind; so she wasn’t the only one to have noticed, “But he’s the best I could do, and he’s willing to work for less than the last one.”

“And you’re sure he’s not going to murder us mid-flight?” Deborah inquired, smirking at the expression on Carolyn’s face; even if he did, he wouldn’t be the worst person she had employed, not by a long shot.

“No.” Carolyn admitted, almost sheepishly as she rolled her eyes; she looked out, to where Bill was slowly but surely making his way around GERTI’s nose, “That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“Because you’re an expert at taking down murderers?” Deborah quipped; if anyone could, then it would be Carolyn, no doubt about it. She could probably shout them into putting down their weapons and resurrect the victims thrice over.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Carolyn scolded her, huffing and prodding her in the ribs with her elbow; she shook her head and sighed, before reanimating and making wafting motions with her hands, “Get the flight plan filed, and the plane started. Go!”

Bill lasted one day. Apparently he received his one day pay-check, on request, after letting Deborah do all of the flying, and then went home. They never saw him again.

In hindsight, Carolyn admitted that he probably hadn’t been a pilot at all.

                                                                   oOoOoOo

** Pilot #13 **

Their thirteenth pilot didn’t even make it to the porta-cabin. Deborah arrived at the airfield to a welcome party comprised of an ambulance and an army of paramedics, all of whom were tending to the Captain, who had fallen victim to a heart attack on his way from the car park. Carolyn was of course, busy negotiating with them, while the fire crew and grounds workers hovered around like flies around a bin.

Deborah made a poorly timed joke about him seeing the porta-cabin and recoiling in horror. It hadn’t gone down too well.

On the bright side, that was how she was first invited to join the grounds crew for drinks, and how she met Dave, and George, and Terry…she couldn’t drink of course, but it was nice to think that out of tragedy had come something nice that she could fall back on.

“Do you think we’re cursed?” Arthur asked, later in the day, as he sat with Deborah on the sofa, knee brushing hers as they flicked through the Times together; he had been glum since the ambulances had arrived, unusually tempered by the air of death and premature mourning that now lingered outside of their door.

“I don’t believe in that sort of thing.” Deborah muttered, as she inspected the page on her lap; then she paused, and sat a little straighter, so that she could stare at the door and consider what he had actually said in the light of the day’s events, “Although…he didn’t even make it through the door.”

“We’re never going to get a captain that sticks, are we?” Arthur bemoaned, slouching back into the cushions with a hopelessness that was out of place in his voice; Deborah had thought exactly that, but never in a million years had she thought that Arthur would be infected with her pessimism, “There’s just going to be a lot of people that leave after a few weeks.”

“No…We’ll get someone.” Deborah assured him, with a cheerful confidence that she didn’t quite feel; she folded the paper and tossed it away, turning so that she could look him in the eyes and convince him of what she wished was true, but probably wasn’t, “I’m sure there’s got to be at least one idiot in the world that won’t be scared away by the sheer brilliance that is MJN.”

“But what if there isn’t?” Arthur argued weakly, pouting with dejection and picking at his hands; that wouldn’t do, not at all.

“Arthur.” Deborah remarked, demanding his full attention as she took his hands in hers and held them still; it was very important to impress upon him just how serious she was, for the sake of the whole company…there was no chance that they were going to survive if they didn’t find someone, so they were going to keep looking, “How many people do we need to make MJN work properly?”

“There’s supposed to be four of us.” Arthur replied, studiously, as if this were tangible fact and irrefutable; a glimmer of hope entered his eyes, and he watched Deborah’s every move.

“Exactly. The company was made for four people.” Deborah agreed, nodding wisely and pressing her lips into a thin line; she made herself smile, and forced herself to believe for his sake that she was speaking the truth, “Which means that somewhere out there is the fourth piece of MJN.”

oOoOoOo

** The Last Captain **

A month had passed, and although they had a Captain now, they were missing a First Officer. Deborah had been stupidly thrilled to be promoted, however reluctant a move on Carolyn’s part as that was, purely because it was the first time in a year that Harry had seemed truly excited by something that she had to say. It was a little victory, but a victory nonetheless; a little spark to remind her that she wouldn’t rather be in a foreign country, and that married life _was_ supposed to be a…slow as it was.

“Deborah, you wake up this instant!” Carolyn’s voice was like a whip, cracking through the air and making lying on the sofa in the middle of the day just that fraction less enjoyable than it had been a moment before; it wasn’t as if they had anything to be doing, other than hanging around in the hope that their client would turn up.

“I’m awake.” Deborah sighed, hoisting herself up and sitting with her arms crossed, slouching back; she _had_ been awake…it was just that everything was so slow and lethargic that she was starting to feel like part of the furniture herself, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, “Is the client here?”

“No.” Carolyn replied, as she paced away from the sofa and crossed to the empty desk, on which Arthur was constructing some sort of device that he was sure would ‘help speed up cleaning’; even that couldn’t shift the shark-like smile from her face, “We got a captain.”

“But I thought Deborah was the captain now.” Arthur remarked, looking up from his work and lowering his hands to the desk; the furrowing of his brow could have spoken for both of their confusions.

“Yes…” Deborah drawled, peering at Carolyn in an attempt to negate the sinking hand that was clenching at her stomach in trepidation of what she was about to hear; she had known that her position could be taken from her at a moment’s notice, but she hadn’t believed that Carolyn would actually do it, “I was under that impression too.”

“No, you’re the First Officer again.” Carolyn informed her curtly, taking just a tad too much enjoyment from saying it; she leaned against Arthur’s desk and shrugged her shoulders, extending her hands into the air either side of her, “I’ve told you about the smuggling before, and yet I caught you at it _again_. This is your punishment.”

“Oh, fine.” Deborah conceded, well aware that she was beaten; more importantly, she was reliant upon Carolyn for everything, “I don’t care…it’s not important…”

She would have to tell Harry and see the look of disappointment on his face…or…she could not tell him…it wouldn’t be difficult.

“So who’s the new Captain?” Arthur asked, perking up, a smile blossoming on his lips as he turned his chair and tipped his head back to give Carolyn his full attention; his eyes flickered towards the door, but came back to his mother straight away, “Is he here now?”

“No, he’s coming in next week to meet you both before the job.” Carolyn explained, matter-of-factly, pressing her hands together; she was being deliberately coy, that much was certain. She was never one to refrain from spilling the dirty secrets about her employees, her clients…anyone she met really.

“Come on, Carolyn.” Deborah prodded her, smirking as Carolyn rolled her eyes; she even went so far as to shuffle to the edge of the sofa and lean imploringly on her knees, batting her eyelashes sardonically, “Do tell us about this man that’s stealing my crown.”

“He’s only been a pilot for six months, at some other airline.” Carolyn caved in remarkably quickly, folding her arms as she shifted into a more comfortable lean; the shark-ish edge returned to her face, and Deborah almost felt sorry for whoever she had manage to ensnare, “Bigger than us, but still not good.”

“Six months?” Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows in genuine surprise, as she opened and then closed her mouth; they had had some characters, but she couldn’t imagine why anyone who had been flying for six months would be looking at anything other than the best airlines in the country, “How old is this man?”

“Thirty-Two.” Carolyn answered swiftly, getting it out of the way as fast as she could; it was all beginning to make sense now, perfect sense with her refusal to make eye contact and her devious expression, “He failed his CPL six times.”

“And you want him in the flight-deck?” Deborah inquired, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything more; she was starting to understand now…the failing pilot, desperate for work, no one would have him, so Carolyn was going to take advantage of his pitiful nature, and Deborah was the one that was going to be forced to endure his sycophantic eagerness.

“Oh, stop your fussing.” Carolyn scolded, wrinkling her nose as she glared across the room; then she paused, and her movements slowed, and an odd smile lifted her lips as she stared into Deborah’s eyes, “I think you might actually like this one, Deborah.”

“Why’s that?” Deborah asked, for the sake of playing the game; it had to be a game, because Carolyn would never hire someone that she thought might actually fit well with the group dynamic.

“Well, he’s not overtly bigoted, or old, or rude.” Carolyn explained carelessly, winding her hand through the air; then she smirked and stared at Deborah with an intensity that made her shift with discomfort, “And he puts up a fight!” there it was, the little hitch that would make Deborah’s life a misery; Carolyn smiled serenely, and for a moment she seemed almost indulgent, in a twisted, wicked-witch sort of way, “Yes, I think you’ll be nicely entertained.” Finally, she added with a crooked finger, “If you drive this one out, there will be Hell to pay.”

“Fine, I’ll be good.” Deborah groaned giving in to her dread; her near future just looked absolutely _wonderful_ , it really did, but there was nothing that she could do to change it if she wanted to retain her job, “What’s his name?”

“Martin Crieff.” Carolyn replied, with a little bounce, as if she was pleased at the discomfort that Deborah was going to endure; then she snapped, and was back to normal in a flash, dropping her hand down over Arthur’s paper contraption, “Now, get off that sofa and _do some work!”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

It was a bright new day. The sun was shining, and the airfield wasn’t particularly busy; even Carolyn and Arthur were mysteriously vacant, even though Deborah could see their cars parked up as she crossed the grass to the porta-cabin. It was true, her morning had started off a little rocky, with Harry moaning that she would be spending the next couple of days in Europe instead of with him; Deborah had swiftly reminded him that it was him that had chosen to fill the rest of his week with ridiculous exercise programs, like aerobics, and tai chi.

She was almost looking forwards to meeting her new colleague. It would be wrong to hold against him her demotion, which was entirely Carolyn’s fault. No, Deborah was confident that she could handle such a recently qualified pilot, and determined to get along with him, if only to make up for her otherwise dreary mood. There would be no games, no falsity, just plain and simple honesty, in the hope that it _worked_ this time.

As she reached the door, Deborah took a deep breath and plastered on a smile; all the better for making a good first impression, earning the Captain’s trust, and most importantly, asserting her own authority. She stepped forwards, gripped the handle – and stumbled backwards as the door flew out towards her, knocking her to the ground as a ginger, uniformed mess tumbled through in its wake.

Thankfully, Deborah had stuck out an arm and caught herself before she could hit the ground too hard, and the man didn’t quite fall over his own feet, even though he flapped and floundered so erratically that it was difficult to get a good look at him, even as she pushed her hair away from her face, and grasped the frantically clumsy hands that were searching for hers as he bent down to help her.

“Oh, god, I'm sorry!” the man, the Captain, Deborah assumed, stammered as he pulled her in one swift swing to her feet, lurching forwards as if to help brush her down, only to be impeded by her own hands doing exactly the same thing; as he hastily withdrew his hands, Deborah lifted her gaze, and took in the scarlet flush across his high freckled cheeks, the wide-eyed panic in his blue eyes, and the defensive tremble in his lips, “S-sorry, sorry...wow…”

All of a sudden, the path of his eyes stopped as they landed on her face, and the Captain’s expression slackened, as his mouth opened and closed a few times. Deborah was so busy trying to dust herself down, and rearrange her hair, that she didn’t realise he was staring at first, and was too caught off guard by the unorthodox introduction that she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Wow?” Deborah repeated, raising her eyebrows expectantly and letting her shoulders relax, almost freezing in an attempt not to appear too ruffled; first impressions were out of the window now, and she had to admit, if only inwardly, that she was rather wrong footed by the break from tradition.

“Not wow.” The Captain amended quickly, swallowing so hard that his throat bobbed as he tugged at his striped sleeves and dragged his bottom lip through his teeth; then he shook his head, and his eyes widened even more in horror, while his hands splayed in the air, as if in surrender, “S-sorry, I um, yes wow, but not, I um, I-I-I uh-”

“Wow's alright.” Deborah assured him, carefully, as she felt the corners of her lips begin to curl as she watched him fluster; after a line of pilots that thought that they were absolutely worth the space they took up, of arrogant, self-satisfied men, being presented with someone so innocently nervous was…refreshing…and all she could think to do as her heart went out to him was to extend her hand and smile, “Hello.”

“H-hello! Hi!” the Captain spluttered, a relieved smile spreading across his lips as took her hand and shook it vigorously, before releasing it and clasping his hands behind his back; he rocked on his heels and forced an awkward smile, the redness in his cheeks never receding as his eyes darted here and there, “Y-you must be the other pilot. Hi...hello.”

“Hello.” Deborah said again, because she couldn’t think of what else she could say to the man to put him more at ease, or to push her pleasant smile into something warmer; she inclined her head, slightly, and made a point of stepping past him and into the porta-cabin, as she introduced herself, “Deborah Richardson.”

“Hi, I-I'm Martin.” The Captain informed her, eagerly stepping aside, and pulling the door shut almost on his back in his hurry to stride back into the middle of the room, abandoning whatever he had been leaving to do; on closer inspection, he was dressed to the nines, uniform pressed and perfect, and his posture was just the same, regardless of the extra inches that he could have benefitted from, “Martin Crieff, that is- um, I'm the Captain.”

“Oh, really?” Deborah drawled, smirking at the surprise that flashed across his face, as he stilled slightly; she watched him over her shoulder, as she unbuttoned her coat and slung it and her bag onto the coat hook in the corner, registering his reactions, “You know, I was so blown away just now that I didn't notice.”

“Really?” Martin asked, brow furrowing as his eyebrows dipped, and his nose scrunched up in confusion; the overexcited smile that had jittered on his face seemed to sag, but the lack of a sharp retort or insult, or any attempt to put her in her place, was enough to make Deborah feel slightly, just slightly, less inclined to prod him as she might have otherwise.

“No, it was a joke.” Deborah assured him, as she turned on her heel and tread back across the room to meet him, leaving a few feet of space between them; he was hanging on her every word, and there was something appealing about that, even if the man had yet to prove that he was fit to command an aircraft, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Of course it was a joke, o-of course.” Martin scoffed, shrugging his shoulders and clearing his throat a little too quickly for him to have been nearly as nonchalant as he was trying to appear; he was trying too hard, but it was only his first day, “Silly me. You'd have to be blind not to see my hat, o-or these-” he pointed to the stripes on his sleeve, “And what would be the point of a blind pilot?”

“You could put her with the drunken sailor.” Deborah remarked indulgently, as she took the opportunity to peer past him and towards the previously empty desk, which was now laden with papers and folders, books, and all number of things that she didn’t quite recognise. Her curiosity was piqued, but she maintained an air of attentiveness as best she could; things were going well, but she needed him to calm down if she was to actually get a reading on him, and find out what he was like when he wasn’t crippled with anxiety.

“Yes!” Martin snorted, trembling imperceptibly as he ran his hand over the back of his neck, and rocked on his heels, meeting her eyes for only a moment before he couldn’t seem to stand it any longer; he hovered over the precipice of speech for a few syllables, until he blurted what must have been a joke, “And the, uh, the handless handyman!”

“Yes...quite.” Deborah replied, unsure of how best to respond to what was most definitely not funny, not at all, not even a little bit; and yet, even as she surreptitiously wrapped her arms around her chest, she couldn’t help but press her lips together to prevent the smile that she could _feel_ lighting up her face and warming her chest. It was just so…funny, but not at all; he was obviously trying, so hard, waiting for the laughter, so damn pleased with himself, that it was impossible not to find him amusing, in his own way…like watching someone trip over their own trap.

“Oh, and I'm pleased to meet you too!” Martin blurted, before Deborah had too much time to think about what he had said; he bit at his bottom lip, and blushed, and rambled on as if he were trying to avoid letting her speak and steer the conversation in ways that he couldn’t keep up with, “I didn't know what to expect - Carolyn didn't tell me anything about you, but this is a nice surprise.”

“Why's that?” Deborah inquired, just shy of curt as settled more stably on her feet and arched one eyebrow, lips pursed as she held his gaze; she wasn’t insulted, as for once, it didn’t seem as if the sexism was personal, or even deliberate, but it was important to instil an understanding of the balance of power early on. If Carolyn hadn’t been punishing her, Deborah would have been the Captain anyway.

“Well because - I don't mean - Oh god.” The words tumbled from Martin’s mouth fast in the wake of the abject horror that dawned on his face; his hands flew into the air, as he flailed and dissolved into an avalanche of garbled placations, “N-not because you're a woman, th-that doesn't matter - not that it's irrelevant, i-it's just that there aren't many women pilots, so i-it's a surprise- a nice one- not that you're nice to look at! I mean, of course you are, you're really nice to look at- oh no, no, no, that's not what I meant, I mean-”

Deborah understood what he meant…just about. It was difficult, picking out the important words from the cacophony of sound, and a lesser person might have taken offence, but she knew, what he was trying to say…listening, she had learnt over the years, was the most important talent to possess if one wanted to succeed in life. It told you the best way to appease one person, and how to cripple another; most importantly, it meant that instead of scorning the poor, pitiable man, Deborah could remain calm and in control, safe in the knowledge that…he was _really_ trying… _trying_ …and that was admirable, in an odd way.

“Stop.” Deborah instructed sharply, raising her hands into the air and holding them palm flat towards him, taking care to make her glare just a tad more pointed, until Martin’s mouth stopped moving, and silence fell as he stared at her in shock; she wanted to tease him, she most definitely would if he lasted more than a week, but for now…it would be wrong of her not to extend a hand of sympathy, “Take a deep breath.” Martin inhaled sharply, and then exhaled, eyes wide, but Deborah didn’t smirk as she wanted to; instead she lowered her voice into the kindest, although still authoritative, tone that she could manage, “Would you like to start again?”

“ _Yes_...thank you.” Martin practically groaned in relief, his shoulders sagging; then he suddenly straightened his back and tipped his nose up as if he were trying to balance a lemon on its tip, and said with a professional smile, “It's nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too Captain Crieff.” Deborah replied warmly, stealing one final sweeping glance from the top of his ginger hair to the tips of his smartly shined shoes; he wasn’t too young, early thirties at best, and the frown lines around his eyes and lips revealed as much, but overall, when his lips curled into a smile and his cheeks lit up…he wasn’t half bad to look at. Pleasantness had its benefits.

“M-martin's fine.” Martin assured her, with a cheeky smile, winding his hands together at his front; eagerness aside, he was off to a good start, all things considered. Deborah could even forgive being knocked to the ground for the smile, and that thought was enough to make something twist in her chest; given that Martin was overly verbose, accidently insulting, and a little too visibly proud of himself, that wasn’t an altogether pleasant idea.

With another strained smile, and a nod, Deborah turned and wandered towards the previously empty desk, taking slow strides until she could run her eyes over the perfectly laid out mess of what appeared to be all of MJN’s official documents; she recognised her own handwriting, and the sketchy sums that had been scrawled down the edges of…the man had managed to get his hands on her log book…her other log book.

“You look like you've been busy.” Deborah remarked wryly, glancing over her shoulder to gauge Martin’s reaction; she lowered her hand to trace the pages, but decided against it at the last moment, “Excited for the first day on the job are you?”

“Yes, I'm um...I'm going over the books, the log-books, the operations manuals, the safety procedure.” Martin explained, and he bustled past Deborah to fiddle with the papers and books, moving them, but not really doing anything productive; after a moment he pulled out the wheelie chair and took a seat, hands still wandering over the pages as he looked up at her, “I want to get everything in order before I start properly.”

“Everything should already be in order.” Deborah retorted lowly, biting her tongue and narrowing her eyes at him; the prickle of annoyance at the base of her throat wasn’t enough to risk unsettling their new working relationship, even if she did want to lean in a little further and snatch her paperwork from his grasp.

“Well, I mean, it _is_ , sort of.” Martin replied, shrugging his shoulders as if he just couldn’t help it, and plastering on a prim smile that Deborah, irrationally, wanted to wipe from his face; it appeared that his rush of nerves was over, and he wasn’t nearly as anxious when it came to his job, “But everything's a bit lax, and it all needs putting in order and sorting out, and it looks like in the rush of all your previous colleagues, some things have fallen through.”

“The other pilots haven't been doing the paperwork, I have.” Deborah informed him tartly, swallowing her indignation, for Carolyn’s sake…for Arthur’s sake; they needed a fourth member of the company, or they’d all be out of a job, and Martin, for all of his many, and ever emerging flaws, hadn’t actually done anything unforgiveable…yet, so she forced herself to be polite, “But if you're not happy with the standard of the work, then you can feel free to take it off my hands from now on.”

“That's not really how it's supposed to work.” Martin remarked, grimacing, although the self-satisfied glint never left his eyes; he was slowly but surely undoing his previously good first impression, as he turned his chair so that he was facing her properly, and cleared his throat in a business-like, falsely conspiratorial way, and said, “But um...I'm glad you're here actually. We need to go over _everything_ together.”

“How do you mean?” Deborah asked curtly, dreading the answer even as she stared down at him, tightening her arms around her chest instead of reacting as she was sure he intended; the new employee wasn’t supposed to start making demands, and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to tear through the business on the first day…he was supposed to listen to how things were done and accept it.

“Well, as I'm now your commanding officer, I need to know that we're on the same page, and that everything is running _by the book_.” Martin elaborated, making a curling motion through the air as he lowered his gaze back to the documents laid out on the desk; it was infuriating that he didn’t pick up on her indignation, instead ploughing on with his own agenda, “I'd like to go over the safety procedure, and the operations of the plane, and things like that...you know, to make sure that we're running efficiently and professionally.”

“That's not really necessary.” Deborah remarked, biting the inside of her cheek as she felt her chest expand to take in too much air, and hold it there, ready to put him in his place as her expression stiffened; she couldn’t do that, she’d be out on the streets if she drove away one more person.

“I think it is.” Martin retorted, adopting a throaty, shrill tone of voice that simultaneously grated on Deborah’s nerves, and made her notice his confidence faltering; she hadn’t noticed his cheeks lose their flush, but she most definitely saw them turn scarlet again, “I-I can't take command of an aircraft if I don't know how well we work together, or how good you are at your job.”

“I'm very good at my job.” Deborah said sharply, then reigned herself in; she reminded herself that he was nice, and of his almost endearing glow after he had finished picking her up from the ground, and forced herself not to act too harshly, to bat her eyelashes and drawl, make him _want_ to do things her way, as she placed a hand on the back of his seat, “Martin...I'm sure you're very...enthusiastic, and I appreciate that, but I've been a pilot for a very long time now. I've never had an accident, and I'm extremely familiar with the plane and the procedure. There's no need to go through all of the paperwork.”

“There _is_ a need.” Martin insisted, jolting around so that he could look her in the eyes; he was such a stubborn…Deborah straightened up immediately, because the man was completely oblivious, or ridiculously single-minded, because his voice grew higher with every word, “I'm the captain, and the proper procedure now that I'm here is to go over everything. It doesn't matter how good you think you are-”

“I _know_ that I'm good.” Deborah interjected, in case he thought for a moment that he could imply that she wasn’t the _best_ pilot he was ever going to have the honour of working with; she had worked too damn hard to have a man that had only been qualified a few months look down on her.

“I'm not going to just believe that because you worked for some big airlines in the past, or because you've always been good at everything-” Martin started to retort, nose scrunching with something that might have been disdain, might have been jealously, as one hand curled around her log book; it was uncalled for, whichever he had been attempting.

“I have been as a matter of fact.” Deborah cut him off again, pursing her lips and digging her fingers into the crooks of her elbows in an attempt not to snap at him; it was his first day, he just didn’t know how things worked yet…everyone else had been given a chance, and he showed potential…she just had to be nice.

“Regardless, I'm not flying with you until we've been over the rules.” Martin insisted sternly, puffing out his chest like the pedantic little…he was turning out to be; only the trembling of his lips gave away his nerves, “I'm the Captain, and I don't care if things around here have been slipping, I'm going to run this ship to the best of my abilities.”

 _“Golly_.” Deborah drawled, as she blinked down at him; granted, she was taken aback slightly, but the previous Captains had had far greater problems than perfectionism…Martin was staring straight back at her, giving her the fight that Carolyn had promised, jaw squared…wishing that she could tear out her own windpipe, Deborah conceded, “Fine, you run me through everything then.”

oOoOoOo

They were finally on the plane, finally, after hours of going over the log books, the safety procedure, anything that Martin could get his hands on. And Deborah had sat through all of it, growing more and more frustrated…with herself.

On the one hand, Martin was pedantic, ruthlessly professional, and curt with her, to the point that she was starting to think that he was actually jealous of her; he must have known the manuals inside out, and boy did he let it go to his head. On the other hand…he was nice, when he was getting his own way, and for all that she was indignant, every now and then Deborah’s bad mood would flutter as he tried to make a joke and say something funny, and flounder completely; it had been a while since she had known _anyone_ , even a spouse, that had _tried_ to make her laugh, as if it were _important_ that she enjoy their company.

So, for all that she wanted to throttle him for his audacity…Deborah was grudgingly willing to give him a chance. Martin was quite obviously one of those people that _tried_ so hard, but couldn’t help but fail…but _damn_ did he try. That much was evident as he tried to take control of the aircraft, but couldn’t quite get the plane started so that they could begin the pre-take-off checks.

They had been in the flight-deck for half an hour. Martin had been in the Captain’s seat for twenty eight minutes, his gold braided hat aligned perfectly atop his head. He had been trying to turn on the APU for twenty-minutes, to no avail.

“Why isn't it...this should be working.” Martin muttered, gnawing on his bottom lip as he jabbed first gently, then harder, at the controls in front of him, brow furrowing his frustration; it wasn’t his fault that GERTI was temperamental, but he didn’t know that, and his eyes were darting about the flight-deck in his attempt to _make_ her work, “Why isn't it-”

“Here, let me.” Deborah sighed, giving in and taking pity on him; it wasn’t his fault after all. Without any further ado, she leaned across the space between them, perching on the edge of her seat as she reached for the correct controls, unable to even muster a sarcastic comment as she did so; she suppose it _was_ her responsibility to show him the ropes, after all. If she had been allowed to, that is.

“No, I don't need your help!” Martin snapped shrilly, throwing his hands into the air and fixing Deborah with the sort of glare that could have burned someone lesser; even as she sat back, it didn’t wane in intensity, and Martin’s flushed cheeks remained set as the desperation grew more evident in the tense set of his shoulders and the shaking light in his eyes, “I'm the Captain - I know how to fly the plane, I don't need telling how. I can do it.”

That was the perfect moment to make fun of him, and assert her dominance…but Deborah couldn’t do it. She remembered only too well being fresh from flight-school, trying to convince some old codger that she didn’t _need_ his help. Martin’s anger was uncalled for, but she couldn’t blame him… _damn him_ and his pitiful self; what an awful time to realise that she was actually a _nice_ person.

“I believe you.” Deborah assured him, softly, as one might address a wounded puppy with very sharp teeth; she watched Martin’s expression shift, become more guarded, and make a show of letting her hand wander back through the air towards the control panel, as if to demonstrate her point, “However, GERTI isn't quite like the model that you were type-rated on. She's old, and sometimes she needs a little kick to get her going.”

Just to make sure, she tapped the backs of her knuckles against a more rusted patch of the control panel, and GERTI provided a dutiful little creak in response. As she waited for a reaction, Martin swallowed hard, and sniffed, blushing, if possible, an even darker shade of red, as he pushed his hand under his nose and then tipped his hat back on his head; it didn’t make him look more like a Captain, but it did make his guilt all the more evident.

“Oh...I'm sorry.” Martin murmured sheepishly; he turned away from her, and began holding his hands over the control panel, grimacing as he refused to make eye contact, and tried to explain himself with a shaking voice that made Deborah’s heart go out to him against her will, “I'm just - i-it's a bit...I'm not…”

“Yes, big day, I understand.” Deborah acknowledged, suddenly struck by an odd sense of awkwardness as Martin’s head snapped up, and she found herself on the end of a ridiculously grateful stare; steeling herself, she asked kindly, leaning forwards again as if to take over for him, “Can I show you?”

“Yes...” Martin replied reluctantly, sniffing and sitting back in his seat, arms folded; then he sighed, and frowned apologetically, offering Deborah a tentative glance, as he nodded at the control panel and cleared his throat, adopting what he must have thought was an authoritative tone of voice, “Yes please.”

“Here.” Deborah reached in front of him, and was only marginally surprised when he elbow bumped into his chest as Martin leaned forwards, rapt with attention; she took care to exaggerate her movements, pressing on the front of the panel to squeeze together the mechanisms underneath the metal sheet, tugging to the right when she pressed and pulled the controls, and finishing with the little waggle that never failed to kick-start the APU when it was being troublesome…then she sat back, and asked gently as she watched the understanding in Martin’s expression, “There you go, see? Now you can do it yourself next time.”

“Thank you.” Martin replied curtly; he didn’t linger, but instead set about flicking the other controls, as the clanking hum vibrated through the walls of the flight-deck, and ended what might have become an uncomfortable silence.

“You know, we don't get rid of people for being less than perfect.” Deborah remarked after a moment, in which she couldn’t quite take her eyes from Martin’s face as he tinkered, not that his bad mood was any of her business; even digging her nails into the arms of her seat did nothing to lessen her sympathy for the damn man…his wounded puppy demeanour, compounded by how ill-fitting his uniform was, was inescapable.

“No?” Martin asked, his hands stilling over the control panel as he turned his head, and blinked imploringly at her; the glimmer of desperate hope in his gaze was heart-breaking, but not quite heart-breaking enough to make up for his previous behaviour, or the petulant edge to his tone, as if he were daring her to change her mind.

“No, definitely not.” Deborah promised wanly, shaking her head and pursing her lips; taking a deep breath, she folded one leg over the other and crossed her arms, making sure to stare out across the slightly tilted horizon of the airfield so that Martin didn’t think that they were bonding, or anything of that calibre, “If you're struggling, then I'm happy to help, I really am.”

“I'm not struggling.” Martin muttered quickly; she could _feel_ his scowl burning a hole through her cheeks.

“Alright...but if you were, I wouldn't hold it against you.” Deborah assured him steadily, as she held her head high, chin tilted up into the air; then, because she thought that it might help get her win his favour, cheer him up, for manipulation’s sake of course, she plastered on a smile and added sweetly, with a polite nod, “Captain.”

A short, truncated noise echoed from Martin’s throat, but as Deborah waited, he didn’t say a word; he simply dragged his bottom lip between his teeth as if he were _trying_ to turn it a darker shade of red than his cheeks, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, fidgeting until his back was pressed against the back of his seat. It wasn’t a thank you, but Deborah could appreciate that she had placated him, if nothing else…the flight might be peaceful…the travesty that was their working relationship so far might just be recovered.

Deborah was about to make a start on the pre-take-off checks, inwardly praying that Martin didn’t take issue with her taking the lead, when she was cut off before she could even open her mouth.

“What _do_ you get rid of people for?” Martin asked suddenly, voice brimming with curious suspicion, toeing the line of what was appropriate to ask about the previous activities of his new employers; as Deborah looked to him, she was taken aback, almost unsettled in the hollows of her lungs, at the way that his blue eyes narrowed, unabashed.

“For being horrible, mostly.” Deborah retorted, smirking at the surprise that flashed across Martin’s face; it wasn’t a lie.

“Oh.” Martin nodded, and cleared his throat, giving his sleeves a quick tug as his eyes darted down to his knees, then back up to meet Deborah’s; just like that, he was pleasant again, and Deborah was once again unsure whether they were getting along, or at odds with each other, as all that she knew was how the nervous smile on his face was good, “Well, I'm not horrible...definitely not.”

She couldn’t be sure whether it was a joke, but Deborah couldn’t stop the flicker of a smile that alighted on her lips, or the low giggle that threatened to bubble in her throat; Martin stole a peculiar glance, but said nothing, and she hoped that that meant he hadn’t noticed. For a moment, neither of them said a word, despite the pressing need to get in the air, so Deborah took it upon herself to get things going again.

“So you haven't been a pilot long then?” Deborah inquired, catching Martin’s eye for only a second before she focused on the loose threads at the end of the arm of her seat, exposing them even more; it was supposed to be a friendly query, to get things back on track.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Martin demanded, flipping, just like that, into charged indignation, shoulders seizing with tension as he glared at her; there was no winning with him, there really wasn’t, and the only reason that Deborah could think of was that he was _extremely_ proud of his new position as Captain, “What are you implying?”

“I'm not implying anything. It was a harmless question.” Deborah replied tartly, forcing herself to swallow hard and suffocate the pang of offence that threatened to bite back; she had to be nice…Carolyn would murder her if this one walked out…honesty…that was her policy today…perhaps if she was honest, Martin would feel less threatened, less defensive, “If you like, I could clear the waters by talking about Air England, or...my ex-husband...or my daughter…”

There was a moment of silence, in which Deborah could _feel_ the tautness stretching between them…and then Martin broke.

“You have a daughter?” Martin inquired tentatively; his head was ducked, and he didn’t quite look at her, as his fingers rapped anxiously on the side of his chair, as the rest of his fidgeting calmed.

“Yes.” Deborah replied shortly, pulling her arms fractionally more tightly around her chest, as she measured her breathing, and accepted that sacrifices had to be made for the good of the company; the last thing she wanted to appear was ashamed of her life, so she took control of her own mistakes…and showed Martin that she was flawed too, “She lives with my ex.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Martin murmured sheepishly, pouting as the blood that had been receding from his cheeks flooded back; he stammered, but he didn’t say a word to condemn her, “Y-you probably don't want to talk about that. I-I've never been married, o-or had any children. And I don't really have much to say about my last job either, so…”

Martin trailed off and inhaled sharply, staring hopelessly at the control panel, doing little more than tapping one button over and over again. It was a pitiful sight for the Captain of an aircraft to be presenting, and he deserved to feel pitiable for his petulance and pedantic pride….and yet, Deborah was touched by his lack of interrogation over her failings.

“How do you take your coffee?” Deborah asked softly, looking away just as Martin lifted his eyes, mouth falling open; she shifted, preparing to surge into action without appearing to do so, steeling herself.

“Wh-what?” Martin gaped, staring at her, although he leaned away as if afraid to bridge the gap between them; then he shook his head and pushed his hand over the bottom of his face, answering in a grumbling mumble that juxtaposed his every effort at authority, “Oh, I um...black, no sugar.”

Without any further ado, Deborah reached forwards and clicked the intercom, leaning in to speak into the microphone. This was sure to settle things down and break the tension; it didn’t matter that they weren’t in the air yet…Arthur wouldn’t notice.

“Arthur, be a dear and bring Martin a coffee with nothing in it.” Deborah instructed, feeling her confidence boost at Martin’s stunned flustering at her side; because it wouldn’t do to appear as if she were doing something solely for _him_ , she added, “And bring me a tea with everything in it.”

Arthur was on sparkling form, and the flight-deck door swung open after only ten minutes of uncomfortable quiet, in which Martin flicked a few switches, and told Deborah to pull others, getting GERTI just that little bit more prepared. He had greeted Martin that morning with the vigour that he was famous for, and it hadn’t gone badly; Martin didn’t understand him, but he hadn’t rebelled against the cheer either, so Arthur had no qualms about leaning between the seats and grinning at both of them.

“Here you go Deborah.” Arthur chirped as he handed Deborah her tea, hot and steaming, which was a good sign; he offered Martin his drink, and waited to straighten up until Martin had curled his hands around it and lowered it slowly towards his lap, fingers curled stiffly despite how scolding it must have been, “And Skip, here's your coffee.”

“Th-thank you, Arthur.” Martin muttered, smiling wanly as he made a show of taking a sip, and then taking far too long to swallow, grimacing at the taste; he would get used to it, after a few days of eclectic coffees, some good, some bad.

“Alright Arthur, that's great.” Deborah remarked dismissively, waving her free hand over her shoulder, shooting Arthur a pointed glare that Martin missed; having him there did nothing to ease the tension, and she needed to get Martin comfortable with _her_ , not simply ‘getting along’ with the company, “Could you go back and make sure that the passengers are nice and tucked in?”

“Okay.” Arthur agree, far too easily, and with far too much of a smile on his face for someone being sent away from the action; he patted the backs of both of their seats, before stepping back, calling out as he slipped through the door and back into the Galley, “I'll leave you two alone.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Martin demanded, as the door clanged shut, and he swivelled in his seat, glaring over the back of it, and then back at Deborah, eyes wide and wild; the panic had returned, just as fresh and erratic as it had been all morning, “Why did he say it like that?”

“It doesn't mean anything.” Deborah sighed, rolling her eyes; then she shook her head, and recalled the itching desire to tease him, letting it return and settle like the smirk on her lips, as she shrugged her shoulders and weaved him a tale that was ninety per cent true, “It's just been a while since we had a captain that didn't annoy me, that's all. They've all been ghastly so far, so you're doing well. You haven't groped or insulted me directly, or anything like that.”

“Do you, um…do you get a lot of groping and insulting?” Martin inquired coyly, and when Deborah glance towards him, his eyes snapped up to her face from where they had quite obviously been lingering lower; he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, “Not that I'm interested, not that I'm not, I'm just um - forget I said anything.”

“No, that's alright.” Deborah replied, as the pleasant warmth of success settled in her stomach; if they kept up this sort of repartee, then everything should move swimmingly, regardless of any initial hitches, “Normally if anyone tries I just dazzle them with one of my many skills, or charm them into apologising.”

“Yeah right.” Martin snorted, ruining the mood just enough that Deborah had to bite her tongue, not that she would have been able to get a word in anyway, as he barrelled on; there was no limit to his clumsy mastery of rudeness, as he delivered it with a smile and a jaunty tip of his head, making it impossible to be genuinely _angry_ at him as he said, “It's just a bit smug, isn't it - thinking you can just charm your way out of anything.”

“Give it two days.” Deborah drawled, settling back against her seat and folding her hands neatly over her lap, smirking as Martin laughed, and then seemed to realise that she meant what she said; it might take a while, but sooner or later he was going to understand that she really was as good as she said she was, and he’d learn to respect her judgement.

The newly earned power would wane soon, and Martin Crieff would fit into MJN perfectly…as the nervous, inexperienced pilot that he was, eager to do well, and therefore perfectly malleable.

oOoOoOo

If Deborah had thought for one minute that she could bend Martin Crieff into shape, or that his abrasiveness would fade once his nerves had been eased and his need to show off pandered to, she had been completely and utterly wrong. Oh, he tried to make her laugh, and to be the Captain, but he was a damn petulant, proud, prissy, self-obsessed, pathologically obstinate _bastard_.

The man actually had the guts to be damn near incompetent on the flight-deck, to overreact at the slightest trigger, and then to overrule _her_ experienced suggestions, divert completely out of the way of their destination, and then blame _her_ for the trouble they were in – as if they would have been perfectly fine had she not argued with his decision, which was idiotic and redundant, and was going to get both of their necks on Carolyn’s woodblock.

As the engineers said goodbye, and GERTI was locked into a foreign hangar, the _wrong_ foreign hangar, MJN’s crew found themselves standing redundantly on the tarmac, silently fuming; well, if Carolyn and Arthur hadn’t been talking to the airfield manager, Deborah was sure that she wouldn’t have been silent…in fact, as she watched Martin sling his flight-bag over his shoulder, and shuffling his feet, pouting petulantly all the while, she decided that she wasn’t going to remain silent either.

“I have been working for this company for years, and we have never diverted.” Deborah hissed, as she sauntered to stand a foot or so away from him, her arms folded across her chest; he might as well know exactly what he had done wrong, so that he would most definitely not do it again, she thought, “Ever.”

“Well maybe you should have if today was anything to go by.” Martin retorted, having the audacity to check his watch before lifted his gaze to meet hers, a prim, far too pleased with himself, expression on his face, as he tipped his nose into the air; the way that he glared at her was almost like a challenge.

“Excuse me?” Deborah demanded, as her eyebrows rose to her hairline, and she was left agape, shaking her head and biting her tongue; the prickling distaste in her stomach, the tart itch at the base of her throat, all of them were telling her to throttle him there and then…but she didn’t.

“I made a command decision to divert, and you argued with me, your captain, and tried to convince me that it was okay to carry on as we were.” Martin explained, as if he were in the right, and all of this was perfectly reasonable; it just made Deborah want to knock the cap from atop his head, “If that's the kind of recklessness that you've been bringing to the job, then maybe it's a good thing I'm here to instil some sense.”

“Oh, _really_?” Deborah drawled, settling more securely on her heels, as she tilted her head back just a tad to look him in the eyes; she wasn’t sure when they had moved so close to each other, but she wasn’t inclined to care when scolding the man from afar seemed to have no effect whatsoever, no matter how much she lowered her voice into a growl, “Well I'll have you know-”

“The both of you stop bickering now!” Carolyn’s furious shout shattered any sense of bravado that Deborah had been manufacturing, and she stepped back just as Martin jolted away from her, the both of them turning to see Carolyn storm across the tarmac towards them, Arthur on her heels, looking suitably cowed, “I did not hire you, either of you, to waste my money.”

“But he-” Deborah started to argue, in the same moment that Martin whined, “I had to-”, their voices clambering over each other in an attempt to be heard and crowned victor.

“Zip it!” Carolyn snapped, raising her hand in a definite motion that had both of their mouths clapping shut; she glared between the two of them with a heat that practically radiated from her pores, “The money I'm having to spend getting the passengers somewhere to stay for the night is coming out of your pay, and don't think for a minute you'll be staying somewhere nice.”

“You've got to set us up in proper accommodation!” Martin exclaimed, so foolish, so new to the company that he honestly believed they functioned properly; he’d soon learn though, the hard way, if he even lasted that long…Deborah wasn’t so sure.

“Oh, do I?” Carolyn inquired, adopting the honeyed tone that so often emerged alongside her most shark-like demeanour, hands wound together and her front, the picture of civility; it was going to be wonderful to watch, of that much, Deborah was sure…it always was lovely to see someone else at the end of Carolyn’s rage, “Martin, what is your job?”

“I-I'm a pilot.” Martin replied, his brow furrowing with bewilderment as his eyes darted towards Deborah, as if actually asking her for help; not that she was going to give it, even if Carolyn had been the sort to allow that kind of camaraderie, “I fly the plane.”

“And who owns the plane?” Carolyn asked sweetly, nodding in encouragement, as Martin stammered and looked more and more like a lost puppy with every second; there would be no mercy, even if Martin was the most agreeable pilot that she had hired since Deborah herself…even that couldn’t save him.

“Well, you do.” Martin answered matter-of-factly, cheeks turning slowly more red with each second, as if he knew what was coming, but couldn’t perceive it to be true; the poor, poor, utterly deserving of everything he got, poor soul.

“Exactly.” Carolyn stated sternly, losing her sweet façade in a fraction of a second, as her face hardened into a glare and her shoulders squared; the final blow, and the definite decree, certain to put Martin in his place, and perhaps even drive him to quit in a few days, if he had as little nerve as he did manners, “I don't care what your sleeve says, I am the boss.”

“Didn't I say so?” Deborah remarked lowly, leaning in close so that she could murmur near his ear, but careful not to get so near close that they touched at all; it wouldn’t do to be smug and overly familiar at the same time, it would only confuse the man.

“Shut up.” Martin hissed, taking his eyes from Carolyn completely to glare at Deborah with something so akin to hatred that it actually knocked her back into the flats of her feet, arms tucked around her, frustration falling away only to be replaced by an odd dejection that hollowed out her chest and wondered what she had done to deserve _that_ ; she took back her earlier assessment…Martin wasn’t quite as much a pushover as she had thought…and that only made things more depressing.

The exchange felt like it lasted hours, but it couldn’t possibly have been more than a second, as Deborah realised that Carolyn was still talking, so caught up in her speech that she was paying little notice to what her employees were saying to each other.

“I am your boss, and you'll do as you're told.” Carolyn informed them both, thin lipped and authoritative as Martin could never hope to be; nevertheless, she couldn’t quite hold all of Deborah’s attention, as her eyes wandered back to Martin at every syllable, searching to see if the hatred was still there, “You are not to waste any more of my money. In order to not waste my money, and as a cruel punishment for the both of you, you're getting one room between you.”

“Carolyn, no!” Deborah most definitely didn’t whine, but she did have to swallow hard and school her expression, to mask the clot of apathy that had lodged in her throat; she turned away from Martin and implored the other woman, “That's not fair.”

The very last thing Deborah wanted was to spend any longer than necessary in Martin’s presence, and she couldn’t put her finger on why; that was the problem. He had proved that he had his moments in which he was endearing, and pleasant…and then he was pernicious and prim…and she had been labouring under the illusion that it was all a symptom of his pride and determination to be good at his job…but that didn’t merit the loathing that he had shot at her…what had she even _done_ to deserve _that?_

It wasn’t as if there was anything _truly_ detestable about her…she had no idea.

“No, it's not; that's the point.” Carolyn replied smartly; she raised her hands into the air, and made a motion that would have pushed the two of them together had she deigned to make physical contact with her pilots, “Use the time to talk through your problems, and make sure that when you board the plane tomorrow, you can do so without letting your personal disagreements interfere with my company!”

There wasn’t even an attempt to say goodbye as Carolyn stormed away, leaving Arthur standing uselessly, staring after her, his bag thrown over his shoulder as he walked cautiously to join Martin and Deborah.

“Well this is just great.” Martin muttered, loud enough that Deborah could hear him as he grumbled and pouted at the ground, scuffing his shoes; it was a surprise that he wasn’t walking off himself, heading out of the airport instead of hanging around waiting for the two of them…he probably just didn’t know where to go.

“You're the one that insisted we divert for the sake of a dodgy alarm.” Deborah snapped, letting go of her temper for a fraction of a second, as she shifted her bag over her shoulder, and began leading the way out, slowing her pace so that both men could walk beside her; it _was_ all his fault, and she had _told_ him to trust her judgement, the arrogant arse, “ Honestly, everything on GERTI's dodgy!”

“Oh but of course, I'm sure with all your years of experience and your incredible talent as a pilot that you happily ignore plane faults all the time.” Martin sneered sarcastically, shooting her a bitter glare out of the corner of his eyes, not even doing her the justice of facing her; it was intolerable, completely and utterly unacceptable, “Nothing ever goes wrong for you!”

“Let's just get to the hotel.” Deborah raised her voice, then reigned it in as her hands flew into the air, a tarnished facsimile of surrender; she could have fought back, but as she pursed her lips and stared at Martin, jittering as he was with annoyance, she could only sigh and roll her eyes, shaking her head, “I'm tired and I want to go to bed.”

Absolutely fantastic; now Martin would think that he had won and she’d never live it down.

“Aw, come on guys.” Arthur implored; in what might have been a flash of wisdom, he slipped behind Deborah so that he was walking between her and Martin, making it all the more difficult for them to snap at each other, “It'll be fun. You can get to know each other, become friends.”

“Give it a rest Arthur.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment; when Martin said nothing, she assumed that he was stewing in his own anger just as she was…good riddance.

oOoOoOo

Martin barely said a word to her at the hotel, and Deborah was willing to let him get the keys, and to endure the silence for the sake of peace, if a mottled one at that; there was nothing to say that wouldn’t make the flight home miserable, and Deborah…Deborah couldn’t _think_ of what she _wanted_ to say to him…she couldn’t decide whether she was mad at Martin, or upset at how he had treated her, how he had betrayed his amiable first impression.

It was only when the sky was completely black, and Deborah was sprawled out under her covers with a book, while Martin pottered sluggishly from the grotty bathroom to his own suitcase beside his bed, that Martin spoke. It wasn’t anything of the sort that Deborah wanted to hear, and she lowered her book slowly, pressing her lips into a thin line as she heard him clear his throat.

“So wh-wh-what’s the protocol?” Martin asked quietly, as if he’d rather be talking to anyone else, as he shuffled on the far side of his bed, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck while he dragged his lip through his teeth and blanched when Deborah’s eyes rose to drink him in, “For this…I-I-I mean for tonight, a-and tomorrow, before the flight?”

“You can do what you like, Martin, it’s not my problem.” Deborah sighed dismissively…then she stopped herself, choking on a breath, as she actually _looked_ at him, smaller now in his pyjamas than in his uniform, although not ridiculously so, and far less confident; she remembered, with a pang that struck her stomach and made her eyes prickle in indignation, and possibly shame…it was Martin’s _first day_ …the man hadn’t been flying long, and now he was there, in a foreign country with people he didn’t know, and probably didn’t like…and he was miserable…it was most definitely shame, “But…I do tend to have breakfast with Carolyn and Arthur…it would be silly, really, as we’re rooming together, for you not to join us.”

“Oh…oh alright.” Martin murmured softly, nodding his head as if he didn’t quite know what else to do with himself; once he had dithered a moment more, and rubbed his hands up and over his elbows, he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, and leant down to root through his bag, coughing awkwardly, “Thank you…”

Deborah tried to raise her book and distract herself, but she couldn’t help turning her head and watching him through the loose strands of hair that fell over her face; the inexplicable sadness that lingered in her guts was intolerable, and yet, all she could think was that a ridiculous part of her was mourning for the man that she had _thought_ she’d be working with. Despite being knocked to the ground, she had _liked_ Martin that morning…now…she didn’t know.

But if she extended an olive branch, perhaps he would relax, and things would become easier between them.

“Martin, do you…” Deborah started speaking, and then caught herself as Martin’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened expectantly, almost fearfully; pinned under the anxious force of his blue eyes, and his lightly flushed cheeks, she suddenly found that the words wouldn’t come, and the air stopped in her throat, “I…are you…um…never mind.”

“What?” Martin demanded indignantly, shifting around to stare at her; his chest heaved, and if the day that they had had was any indication, there would be no dissuading him now that he was interested.

“Nothing, I…I just...it’s…you’re…” Deborah didn’t stutter, but she might as well have done; when it became too much to look at Martin, she ducked her head and fiddled with the pages of her book between her fingers, swallowing hard, speaking softly enough that if she were lucky, he might not hear, “It’s always difficult, I know…working with new people.”

“It’s not difficult.” Martin retorted glumly, sniffing far too loud for a young Captain fresh to the flight-deck; he didn’t even sound as if he believed himself, “I’m fine.”

“Alright.” Deborah acknowledged; she knew that she should have let the matter lie there, but she somehow her closeted sense of honour emerged and it was impossible not to carry on, not when she had a slim chance to put things right, “But…I do understand that it’s hard…really, I do. Just…you should never take the first day to heart…first impressions aren’t always correct.”

“I-I…I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.” Martin remarked, and when Deborah stole a glance towards him, he was blinking, bewildered, and winding his hands together; it was a lost cause.

“No…neither am I.” Deborah sighed, letting her eyes fall closed as she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead; with a long exhale, she slid down the bed and curled onto her side, tugging the covers up to her shoulders, an effective end to the conversation, even as Martin made an odd noise in his throat, “Ignore me, I’m exhausted.”

oOoOoOo

Being in the air with only Martin for company was agonising. The flight home, as Deborah had wanted, wasn’t marred by arguments, but that would have been a welcome addition to the whirring of the engines. Carolyn and Arthur, having endured the tense silence over breakfast, were keeping away from the flight-deck, which meant that Deborah was alone…felt alone…Martin was there, but he only spoke to ask her to do the checks.

She wasn’t angry anymore…and it didn’t seem as if Martin was mad either. They were just sad, and unhappy in each other’s company. Under the guise of flicking a switch above her head, rapping the metal with the backs of her knuckles, Deborah stole a glance at Martin; the sight of him frowning and moping as he stared into the sky was unpleasant. He was a damn sight more likeable than the other pilots that Carolyn had hired…it would be a shame if he decided to leave.

Perhaps she should test him properly, get the ball rolling.

“Martin…” Deborah said coyly, taking care not to appear as if she was watching for his reaction, even though she was doing exactly that; she waited for him to turn to her, eyebrows rising expectantly, before she plastered on a faux tentative smile, and pushed her hair behind her ears, “I realise that you want to do everything 'by the book', but surely you don't want to spend the flight in silence?”

“What are you suggesting?” Martin asked, stiffening as he wrapped his hand around a lever; he failed miserably at pretending that he wasn’t withdrawn, visibly leaning away from the space between their seats, despite his apathetic curiosity.

“Something to clear the waters between us, perhaps.” Deborah suggested, feigning nonchalance with a shrug of her shoulders and an airy smile, a curl of her wrist; inwardly, she was holding her breath, hoping despite herself that Martin passed this test, and that she wouldn’t have to sit through another stream of pilots that she couldn’t stand, “A word game?”

“You...you mean like the ones you'd play on the bus on school trips?” Martin inquired after a moment, cautiously, as if he were poking his toe into a shark infested pool; even so, it was impossible to miss the way that his eyes brightened, and he practically perked up, lips quirking at the corners.

“Yes, exactly those sorts.” Deborah replied brightly, offering him a smile that was possibly a little too genuine, but whose warmth she knew she could use to her advantage; it would have been a lie to say that she wasn’t’ pleased with his enthusiasm; it had been a very long time since she had played a proper game with anyone, and she missed winning, “What type of game did you play?”

“Oh, I-I...I never actually played them,” Martin admitted bashfully, his cheeks flushing as he did; that wasn’t really a surprise, given his attitude the previous day, but he carried on so quickly that Deborah didn't have time to do more than nod, “b-but the kids around me did. They used to start with a word and then move on with words that they thought of, and they'd make a chain of weird words.”

“Well, yes, that's the sort of idea.” Deborah remarked stiltedly, wetting her lips for the sake of doing something other than lingering on Martin’s statement; she had to be polite, which wasn’t all that difficult when presented with enthusiasm for something that she loved…perhaps Martin wasn’t so bad after all, “I was thinking of something a bit more complicated though; the sort of game that has a winner.”

“A competition?” Martin replied, opening and closing his mouth like a clam until Deborah took pity and nodded quickly; then his expression shifted, and the tension left his shoulders, until he actually appeared shy, genuinely touched that she had asked, vacillating as he seemed wont to do from on edge to calm like the pendulum of a clock, “That um...that sounds quite fun actually. Sure, I'd, uh, I-I'd love to play. I-I mean I'd like to-not love.”

“Excellent.” Deborah drawled, grinning as Martin fidgeted; perhaps things were going to go well, after all of the hassle that the company had experienced…it would be good for everything to go well, just this once, “I've got an idea, that's sort of like eye-spy, but different...”

oOoOoOo

“And that’s six o’clock.” Deborah groaned, pushing away from her desk and kicking her feet down from its top, sparing Martin only the most fleeting of glances; they had stopped talking once he realised that Deborah wasn’t going to listen to him outside of the flight-deck, and most definitely in regards to the way she was sitting, “Finally…”

Without another word, Deborah rose to her feet and strode across the room, snatching her coat from the hook and sweeping it over her shoulders as she wandered back to her desk and began packing her bag. The only sound was the clattering of her pens as a few hit the ground in her haste to go home; not that there was anything at home worth hurrying for. It was only as she bent down to retrieve them, then rose from behind the desk, that she paused.

For what must have been the eighth time in the two days that they had known each other, Deborah found herself watching Martin…and holding her breath. He was sitting behind his desk, but he wasn’t doing paperwork as he had been an hour beforehand; it wasn’t possible for him to still be working, even after all of his blustering over proper procedure. Instead, Martin was hunched, arms curled around his log-book, as he traced the wrong end of a pen back and forth over the same area, frowning pitifully all the while, eyes unfocused as he occasionally sniffled.

Damn him…Deborah should have walked away then, but there wasn’t a force in the world that could have made her leave him like that. All of a sudden, she could see herself years and years before, sitting at the back of a medical lecture, completely out of her depth and trying so hard to fit into the system, really _trying_.

Martin Crieff wasn’t _that_ bad, she supposed, and the Deborah Richardson that she wanted to be would never forgive herself if she let the man wallow in isolation; MJN needed a fourth member after all…and the lesser evil was always the better.

“So, Martin, what are your plans for tonight?” Deborah inquired smoothly, sauntering up to Martin’s desk and leaning down until she was propped up with her palms flat over his paperwork; she wasn’t going to be unnaturally nice, simply welcoming, and hope that it put things right, “A round of drinks with your mates to celebrate your first MJN flight?”

“Wh-what?” Martin blinked blearily, and he met Deborah’s gaze without wavering in his confusion; he plastered on a smile, but there was a sag in his shoulders and a twist to his lips that betrayed his emotional exhaustion, and perhaps his lack of patience with _her_ , “N-no, I…I’ll probably just sleep it off actually. It’s been a…i-it’s been a long few days.”

“That it has.” Deborah agreed, biting the corner of her lip as she nodded and squeezed her eyes tightly shut; then she opened them again, and smiled wanly, ignoring how withdrawn Martin looked, pretending that she had never seen the hatred in his eyes the day before, “I’m sure that we can put that behind us though; nerves are destined to grate on the first day after all.”

“Thank you.” Martin replied, then choked and corrected himself, making rapid and entirely unnecessary hand movements, “I-I-I mean, that would be nice, thank you.” He ended so nicely, so neatly, that Deborah thought he was finished, yet when she straightened up, he piped up with an odd, probing tone of voice and a scrunched nose that had her quirking an eyebrow in anticipation, “So, um…Deborah…do you, I, uh d-do _you_ have any plans for tonight?”

“Sadly no.” Deborah replied with a sigh and a shrug, as she pulled her coat more tightly around her waist, ignoring the niggle in the back of her mind telling her to tease Martin, though for what she wasn’t sure; all that she knew was that she’d rather not imagine whatever Harry was doing, or whether he was even at home, “Straight home to see if my husband has actually bothered to fill the fridge in my absence, I’m afraid.”

“Oh - y-you’re married?” Martin inquired, his eyes blowing wide as his tone turned shrill for a fraction of a second; it was odd really, how he sat back, throat bobbing, almost awkward in his realisation.

“Yes. Very happily.” Deborah answered as briefly as she could, not hesitating to smile despite the sour taste on her tongue; letting her gaze linger on Martin’s face for a moment longer, she offered him a polite nod, as she took the first step backwards, to leave him to his thoughts, “Well, Martin…I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“And you…Deborah.” Martin replied, and with that, he settled into the first real, utterly relaxed smile that she had seen on his face since he had bowled her over in front of the porta-cabin, one that made his whole form light up; then, as if he just couldn’t help it, he tried to be funny, and floundered, “Unless I see you first! No, um, that wasn’t right...”

Deborah sighed, but there was no denying the warmth that blossomed in her chest as she forced herself to swallow the tail end of a chuckle. Nevertheless, she turned her back on him, shaking her head as she walked back to her desk, to retrieve her bag. As she took the final steps towards the door, Deborah glanced over her shoulder, and called out one final farewell.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

Hopefully, everything would be alright, for MJN…for her. After all, it had only been the first day; there was no way that Martin Crieff could really be so pernicious, pernickety, and damn pompous…and if he was, then he wouldn’t last long at all.

Deborah was confident; she’d either whip Martin into shape, or he’d be out of her life sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this fic. Thank you all for reading, and for reviewing - it's been a pleasure to write and to see your responses.

**Author's Note:**

> This of course is one of two fics that I'm writing, and I plan to do an alternate chapter each time. A dip into her past, a dip into her future.  
> I hope this lived up to expectations, and if you have any thoughts, do let me know.


End file.
